#let's do the magic for queue
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ririnyann ¡ 6 months ago
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note to self.. tags to use..
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safe-smuttin ¡ 4 months ago
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Let's talk about sex bb...
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2 WEEKS!!! - WE'RE GETTING CLOSER!!!
SO WHAT DO YA THINK YOU'RE GONNA WRITE? - WHAT ARE YA CURRENTLY WRITING? NEED SOME IDEAS - CHECK OUT OUR PROMPTS
AND IF YA NEED A LIL CANVA PLAYING INSPO HERE'S SOME TITLE CARDS TO PLAY WITH!!!
AT THIS LINK RIGHT HERE (make a copy and have at it)
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purplereina11 ¡ 10 days ago
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You go to your cousins wedding in Spain, and you catch the eye of the Alexia Putellas, she unintentionally becomes your plus one
Wordcount: 12.6k
You're standing in the queue at Heathrow, passport in hand, half-asleep and already regretting the jeans you chose. It’s too early to be alive, and your little brother has been humming the same four bars of a song for the past ten minutes. Loudly off-key.
Your mum's elbow nudges you in the ribs. Not hard, but enough to knock you out of your daze.
“This’ll do you good,” she says in that gently smug way she does when she’s convinced she’s right about something. “A bit of sunshine. A bit of space.”
You sigh and don’t reply, you know exactly what she’s getting at. She doesn't mention her name, your ex, but the meaning is clear. A change of scenery, to get you out of your 'mood.' As if Catalonian air can magic away the sting of being ghosted by someone you thought you were building something with.
You blink down at your boarding pass. Terminal 5. Gate B42. Barcelona.
“She wasn’t right for you anyway,” your mum continues, adjusting her sunglasses on top of her head. “Always seemed a bit… slippery, that one. Eyes like a fox.”
“Mum,” you say, through gritted teeth.
“What? I’m just saying. Bit of flirt, wasn’t she?”
“She literally met you twice.”
“Exactly.”
Your dad, mercifully, steps in before the conversation spirals into a psychoanalysis of your entire romantic history.
“Let’s not start the holiday with an inquisition, yeah?” he says, dragging your youngest brother out from behind a pillar where he’s been attempting to lick the marble for reasons unknown.
You glance around at your family two younger brothers already wrestling each other, your dad with travel pillow marks on his face, your mum clutching everyone's passports like the Queen of Organisation and you, heart slightly bruised, clothes slightly rumpled, off to a Spanish wedding that promises at least one full-blown breakdown yours or your cousin’s fiancé, you’re not sure yet.
Carmen is a professional footballer, espresso snob, and absolute beast at board games has been around for years. From the moment your cousin Ben introduced her at that bonfire party, you liked her. She’s sharp, a bit sarcastic, and surprisingly sweet when no one’s looking. You’ve had your fair share of deep chats with her during family holidays, usually while Ben’s off being loud somewhere nearby with your brothers and his own.
You’d even go as far as to call her a friend now one of the good ones. The kind of person who sends you memes at 2am and somehow remembers your favourite wine. You’ve never watched her play football, though. You always promised you would, and she always shrugged and said she understood you didn't get the appeal.
Apparently, several of Carmen’s teammates are flying in for the wedding. Some big names, your brothers are already buzzing about maybe meeting actual professional athletes. You couldn’t care less.
Well. That’s what you tell yourself, but somewhere in the back of your mind, curiosity stirs you've seen the players they've been showing your mum they hope go because they have questions they want to ask.
As the plane begins boarding, your mum gives your arm a little squeeze. “You’re going to have fun, love. You’ll see.”
You nod, but you’re not so sure. You’re jetting off to a country where you can only ask where the library is, to watch someone else marry a woman of his dreams after a lengthy relationship while yours just fell apart.
Still, the thought of warm air, Carmen’s familiar face, and a weekend away from everything you know? That has a certain appeal.
Maybe you’ll flirt badly with a local waitress. Maybe you’ll dance with a stranger. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll learn to say something more useful in Spanish than 'Dónde está la biblioteca?'
You file onto the plane with your family, shuffle into your seat, and try not to think too hard, your ear phones go in and you edit some posts and reels for your instagram account.
☀️
You’re sat by the pool, legs crossed, laptop in front of you more for show than function. You told yourself you’d catch up on a few things before the garden party tonight, maybe answer some emails, but the screen’s been idle for ages. The cursor just blinks, smugly, while your brain drifts off somewhere warmer than home but not quite relaxed either.
Your jumper lies in a crumpled heap behind you, abandoned the second you stepped into the sun. It’s still got the faint scent of Heathrow on it, rain, recycled air, something sterile. At 4:30 this morning, it had felt like a good decision, now, sitting under a Mediterranean sky in a soft cotton co-ord bralette the same pale grey-blue as your joggers and jumper you feel more put together than you intended.
The pool in front of you glitters in the heat, somewhere beyond the villa walls, a lawn mower hums faintly. Inside, you can hear your mum trying to figure out the coffee machine, and the boys are already arguing over who’s getting top bunk in the guest house.
Then a shadow falls across your laptop.
You look up.
“Hola, guapa.” Carmen smiles down at you, barefoot, sun kissed, effortlessly relaxed. She’s wearing a loose white shirt tied at the waist and denim shorts that somehow make her look like a travel ad. Her hair is up in a knot and there’s a soft flush to her cheeks, sun or excitement, you’re not sure which.
You return the smile and reach up as she leans down for a hug, the kind that lingers just a second longer than polite. Familiar, warm. She's always hugged like she means it.
“Hey,” you say, settling back again. “You ready?”
She sits on the edge of the lounger next to you, dragging a towel across her lap like she might actually get in the water but never does, “I’m nervous,” she admits, shielding her eyes from the sun. “But I just want it to happen already, you know? Then also... I want everything to slow down. Like, I want to bottle this part.”
You nod, understanding more than you expected to. “Yeah. You’ve waited ages for this.”
“Nineteen months,” she says, pulling a face. “Ben’s been counting like he’s on parole.”
You laugh softly. “It’ll all be perfect. You two are kind of annoyingly great together.”
Carmen tilts her head. “You think so?”
“Yeah,” you say honestly. “You’re weird in exactly the same ways. It works.”
She lets out a breath and smiles again, this time softer. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
You mean it, too. Whatever’s been clinging to you since the breakup, the weird quietness you carry around like a second skin, it feels lighter here. Carmen has always been easy to talk to, the kind of person who doesn’t need you to be funny or impressive. She just gets it and you like her for that.
“There’s a garden thing tonight,” she says, standing and brushing invisible specks of dust off her knees. “Family and friends. Chill drinks, some food. Nothing fancy, but come down, yeah? Everyone’s arriving.”
You blink up at her, briefly thrown. “What, like... everyone everyone?”
“Not all at once,” she grins. “But enough. My parents, your gran, Ben’s work mates, some of my teammates and friends... it’ll be good vibes. You might even enjoy yourself.”
You groan lightly and flop back onto the lounger. “I’ll come if I can wear something that doesn’t involve a bra.”
“Totally allowed,” she calls over her shoulder, already walking away. “It’s Spain. No one cares.”
You watch her disappear through the French doors and then glance back at your screen. You close the laptop.
You lean back, eyes closed, face to the sky, the breeze carries the scent of jasmine and the sound of familiar voices starting to gather, you just hoped you had an outfit you liked yourself in for tonight
☀️
The villa’s garden is bathed in early evening light, all golden edges and long shadows. Lanterns sway gently between olive trees, and fairy lights snake along the trellises like fireflies caught in ivy. The air is warm, sweet with something citrusy, and the music is low just enough to make people sway slightly as they talk.
You’re holding a glass of white wine and trying not to wobble in your heels on the uneven stone path. The dress you threw on soft blue with little embroidered daisies moves just enough when you walk to make you feel like you made the right choice. You’ve even got mascara on, minimal effort, but effort was made.
You spot Carmen deep in conversation near the buffet, her hands moving animatedly. Ben’s nearby, already slightly tipsy and laughing with his best mate. There’s an easy glow to everything, like this moment might belong in someone’s memory forever.
You wander a little, sipping your wine, exchanging polite hellos with people you half-recognise from photos. Some of them are Carmen's family, some are her friends. Some are very clearly footballers, you’re not sure which is more intimidating the ones who look like they bench-press you for breakfast, or the ones who are stunning in a terrifying, should be model kind of way.
Then someone taps your arm. “Hey! There you are.”
You turn and grin immediately. “Patri!”
Patri Guijarro pulls you into a hug, warm and soft. She’s in a flowy dress and trainers, and somehow still looks like she could outrun everyone here. You’d met her on the English hen do a couple of months ago, after a lot of prosecco and an aggressively chaotic karaoke session. She was surprisingly funny, soft-spoken, and spent half the night teasing Carmen lovingly in Spanish you didn’t understand.
“You look good,” she says, in accented but clear English.
“You too,” you reply. “I almost didn’t recognise you without a disco ball behind your head.”
She laughs. “That club was scary.”
“Yeah,” you say. “I’m still recovering emotionally.”
You drift into easy conversation, she asks about your flight, your family, your job and you ask about training, the wedding prep you knew she'd been heavily involved in, how Carmen’s been holding up. It’s the kind of chat that soothes your nervous system, friendly, just what you needed.
Your eyes wander absently across the garden, and pause and there she is. Leaning against the low stone wall, just beyond the lanterns talking to someone, holding a drink, dressed in something simple and sleeveless. Her hair’s tied up in a lazy knot, and there’s a single gold chain around her neck catching the last of the light.
She looks over, it’s not dramatic, it’s not slow motion, no string quartet starts playing but she meets your eyes like really meets them and you smile. Purely instinctively, the polite kind polished, low-stakes, casual.
She doesn’t smile back exactly but she doesn’t look away either.
There’s a beat too long that passes and you start to wonder if you’re supposed to say something. Raise your glass? Nod? Then she looks away, quickly, like someone just called her name.
You blink, flustered. Not visibly, but enough that your chest flickers like someone lit a match inside it. You glance at Patri, who’s still talking, oblivious. You nod along, try to focus, but your eyes drift back to the stone wall.
Alexia is still there, only now she’s half-turned, back toward you, someone’s laughing beside her. She’s not looking your way, but something about her shoulders, the slight stiffness, makes you wonder. Did she actually blush or was it just the heat and your imagination.
☀️
You're sat at a long wooden table under the vines, plates scattered with half-eaten tapas patatas bravas, olives, jamón, little toasted things you can’t pronounce but keep eating anyway. Your youngest brother is trying to stack anchovy tins, your dad’s telling a story you’ve already heard twice today, and the wine is just beginning to buzz behind your eyes in that soft, slow way that makes everything feel slightly tilted and golden.
You’re halfway through a garlic prawn when someone crouches beside you, lightly pressing a hand to your arm.
It’s Carmen. “Hey,” she says, voice just for you, eyes dancing a little. “Alexia just asked me about you.”
You pause mid-chew, swallow and sip your wine. “Who’s Alexia?” you ask casually, glancing at her over the rim of your glass.
Carmen’s eyebrows lift like she’s caught you in a lie. “You don’t know who Alexia is?”
You shake your head. “I don’t follow women’s football. I barely watch your team.”
She snorts. “You’re the only person at this wedding who doesn’t know her name. That’s kind of amazing.”
You raise an eyebrow, half amused. “Is that a good thing?”
“It might be,” she says, smirking.
Then she tilts her head, just slightly, and gestures subtle, practiced. Her fingers barely move, but your eyes follow the motion across the garden and there she is. Gold chain, sleeveless dress, that same loose knot in her hair. She’s standing by the drinks table now, laughing softly at something someone said, a glass of red wine in hand. The twilight’s catching on her collarbones, her expression is relaxed but not careless like someone used to being watched but never quite performing.
“That’s Alexia,” Carmen murmurs. You try not to stare, so you look back at Carmen instead, Carmen grins. “She noticed you before.”
You make a noncommittal sound and jab your fork at a tomato, trying not to overthink whatever it is you're feeling.
“She asked if you spoke Spanish,” Carmen adds, watching you closely now. “Said you looked pretty in that dress”
You scoff, “Clearly this dress is doing more for me than I realised.”
Carmen nudges your knee with hers. “Don’t act cool. She never asks about people. Ever.”
You glance across the garden again.
Alexia’s not looking she’s talking to a group, but her body’s turned slightly in your direction like she’s ready to glance at any second. “She doesn’t speak great English,” Carmen adds.
“Perfect,” you say. “Neither do I when I’ve had wine.”
Carmen laughs and squeezes your shoulder before standing. “You’re going to talk to her later.”
“I’m really not.”
“You are,” she says over her shoulder. “She’s already asked your name.”
You blink down at your wine glass, then glance back at Alexia, who, as if summoned, briefly lifts her eyes again and catches yours.
Just for a second and this time, you’re sure, she blushes or maybe it’s the wine. You've had too much wine yourself to be sure you decide.
☀️
You’re walking past the lower terrace with a family friend, Sarah, one of your aunt's old uni mates, who’s halfway through telling you about her latest yoga retreat in Lisbon when you hear your name float across the garden.
“Hey!” Carmen’s voice, light but deliberate.
You turn instinctively. She’s seated at a low table with a small group, mostly women tall, tanned, athletic, all with that relaxed energy that makes you suddenly aware of how you're walking. Her arm lifts, hand up in a beckoning wave, fingers curled in a ‘come here’ gesture that gives you no real choice.
“Sorry,” you murmur to Sarah. “The bride beckons”
Carmen’s already smiling as you approach, her eyes a little too pleased with themselves. “Sit,” she says, standing just long enough to take your hand and pull you gently down next to her, casual, in that way she gets when she’s playing matchmaker. However this time instead of you watching amused, you were the target. You’re suddenly very aware of how close you are to every woman around the small table.
Carmen doesn’t give you time to panic. “Patri, you remember Y/N from my hen do right.”
You smile, already knowing exactly where this is going. You glance at Patri, who’s mid-laugh, holding a beer with her elbow resting on the back of her chair. "Yeah, we caught up before"
You catch Carmen looking at someone over your shoulder, her eyes flicking but before you can glance around, she clears her throat.
“Oh,” she says, like it just occurred to her. “Have you met Alexia?”
You turn and there she is, right next to you. You hadn't realised, somehow she’d been quiet, watching or maybe just letting the noise happen around her. Her gaze meets yours with that same unreadable softness from earlier. Up close, her features are sharper than you expected. Her hand rests casually on the stem of her wine glass, and there's a faint glow to her skin from the last of the sun.
You blink, caught slightly off guard, “I haven’t,” you manage. “Hi.”
She gives the tiniest nod, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Hola.”
It’s a little awkward but not bad. Just aware of the slight language delay. The kind that makes you both overthink what comes next.
Carmen leans into you like a mischievous translator. “She understands more than she speaks,” she says. “Just don’t talk too fast.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” you reply, smiling, still half-facing Alexia.
Carmen leans in again, lowering her voice just enough to make it clear it’s for you alone. “So…” she begins, a teasing lilt already blooming in her tone. “Where’s your plus one? Don’t tell me you left Lily behind in rainy England.”
You blink, it’s not the question that catches you off guard, it’s the fact she doesn’t already know. You shift slightly, wine glass pausing just below your lips. “We, uh…” You glance at Alexia beside you instinctively, as if the answer might be written somewhere on her arm. “We’re not… seeing each other anymore.”
Carmen pulls a face, not a shocked one more like a satisfied shrug. “Oh.” Then, casually, “I never liked her.”
You let out a quiet laugh, caught somewhere between exasperation and relief. “Jesus, Carm. Bit late with that opinion.”
“I didn’t want to start something.” She shrugs again, unapologetic. “But she always made you smaller, like you were waiting to be approved or something.”
You glance down, tracing a condensation ring on the table with your thumb. It’s not untrue, you just didn’t realise how visible it had been “I'm honestly surprised you didn’t hear already,” you say. “Thought the family gossip network had international coverage by now.”
Carmen smirks, tilting her head. “I’ve been in wedding tunnel vision. No one tells the bride anything useful.”
There’s a pause not awkward, but still. You feel it settle in your chest a little, the quiet that comes after a name you’re not saying anymore. You catch Alexia shifting slightly beside you, as if she’s listening without meaning to.
“She wasn’t coming anyway,” you add, more to fill the silence than to explain yourself. “She made that clear before I even booked flights.”
Carmen’s smile softens. “Well, her loss.”
You glance up at her, smiling faintly picking at a piece of manchego when Patri leans forward, elbows resting on the table, and fixes you with a look that’s gentle but completely unreadable.
“So,” she says, a little softer than before. “What happened?”
You don’t pretend not to understand. You could, you could laugh it off or wave your hand like it’s all ancient history, but the way she says it makes it easier to answer. You exhale slowly, watching the wine in your glass catch the light, “She just…” You pause, tongue pressing against the inside of your cheek. “Didn’t really see me. I think she liked the idea of me, the version she imagined but not the actual human.”
Patri nods slowly. She doesn’t interrupt.
“She had this… plan,” you continue. “Everything scheduled, future-proofed. Perfect on paper and I wasn’t always… I don’t know. On script enough for her.”
You glance up, and Alexia is listening now openly, seeing Alexia watching you with that quiet focus sends a flicker of heat up your neck.
“I kept giving in to keep the peace,” you add. “And then one day I realised I didn’t even like the version of me she wanted and had create for herself.”
Patri doesn’t say anything for a beat, “That’s brave.”
You shrug. “Felt more like falling off a ledge than bravery.”
“Still,” she says, “you didn’t stay small.”
You smile faintly. “No. Just single.”
That gets a laugh, even Alexia lets out a breath of amusement soft, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to. She leans forward then, just slightly, not enough to take over the conversation, but enough to join it.
“How long… ago?” she asks, the rhythm of her words careful, eyes flicking toward Carmen for reassurance.
You tilt your head thoughtfully. “Couple of weeks? Not long about 6 weeks.”
Alexia nods slowly, like she’s translating your answer into something she can sit with. “Still… hurts.”
It’s not a question, it’s not even sympathy, just understanding. “Less than it used to,” you say honestly. “Still catches me sometimes, though.”
You’re just about to deflect the conversation change the subject, maybe make a joke when Carmen, never one to leave a moment alone, leans in with a shake of her head and a glass of wine raised in something far from a toast.
“She got what she wanted,” she says sharply. “The exposure. The followers. She’s riding that little clothing brand sponsor now like she got it on her own.”
The words land with a certain heat, not cruel, but cutting in their clarity. You blink, a little stunned. It’s one thing to think it to yourself, it’s another thing to hear it spoken aloud and learn others think it to.
There’s a short silence. Someone across from you, you think her names Mariona makes a low 'ooof' sound under her breath. Patri raises her eyebrows, even Alexia looks slightly caught off guard, like she’s trying to make sense of the bluntness.
“Wait,” one of the girls says a defender, you think, from Carmen’s club. “You’re an influencer right?”
Carmen doesn’t wait for you to answer. She turns, hand sweeping theatrically toward you like she’s introducing royalty. “She’s the influencer,” she says. “She’s modest. Very chic, very understated, but yeah she’s pretty well known back home. Go on" She turns back to you with a grin that dares you not to answer. “Tell them. Come on. How many followers?”
You laugh, looking down into your wine like it might offer an escape route. “Carmen…”
“May as well just say Alexia’s going to Google you later anyway.”
You look up slowly, cheeks warm, eyes catching on Alexia’s moving from you being caught in the cross fires, “Okay, fine,” you say, tone dry. “One point eight.”
“Million,” Carmen adds like she’s your manager. “On Instagram.”
There’s a collective little ripple around the table not dramatic, just a hum of impressed whistles, nods, raised brows. “Holy shit,” someone says. “What do you even do?”
You shrug, brushing it off. “Bit of fashion, bit of travel, some brand campaigns.”
“And the ex,” Carmen adds, never missing a beat, “was tagging along the whole time. Always conveniently in the background when the cameras were on.”
“Carmen,” you say gently.
She holds up her hands, mock-surrender. “Fine, I’ll stop, but I’m allowed to be mad. You were always too nice to say it, but she used you.”
You take a breath and let it sit, but you don't need to defend it, not anymore. “Well,” you murmur, lifting your glass again, “at least she looked good doing it. My lighting’s fantastic.”
That earns a wave of laughter, even Alexia laughs soft, behind her hand, but clearly amused.
She tilts her head slightly toward you. “I… follow now?” she says, a little uncertain, gesturing toward her phone.
You laugh, more genuinely this time. “If you like mirror selfies and badly subtitled skincare reels… sure.”
She smirks. “I like… mirrors.”
You make eye contact with her, trying not to snort into your wine.
Patri leans closer to Carmen and mutters something in Spanish you don’t catch, and they both giggle.
☀️
Later, when the sun has dipped low enough to leave the table in shadow, people start peeling away.
Carmen’s been pulled into a conversation about tomorrow’s seating chart. Patri's wandered off, still laughing with two teammates, a bottle of beer dangling from one hand. Music still playing low, something Spanish and slow, pulsing softly from a speaker tucked beneath a fig tree.
You and Alexia are still here, the last two on the table, like it was all orchestrated to leave you alone.
You’re both leaning back in your chairs, glasses half-full, watching the remaining flickers of gold light play across the garden. There’s a warmth to the air that isn’t quite heat anymore.
She shifts beside you, turns her head. “You… okay?” she asks.
You glance at her, surprised. “Yeah. Are you?”
She smiles faintly. “Sí. I mean…” She squints a little, searching for the words. “Not… ‘okay’ bad. I mean… you seem…” She gestures vaguely in the air, then gives up. “It’s hard. English is hard.”
You smile, letting your chin rest in your hand. “You’re doing fine. Better than my Spanish.”
“Your Spanish is… cute.”
You raise a brow. “Cute?”
Alexia shrugs, one shoulder up, smirking. “Like… baby goat. What’s the word—”
“Goat?”
“Sí,” she says with a laugh. “Little legs. Trying.”
You let out a helpless laugh, nearly choking on your wine. “Okay, rude.”
She leans toward you, not close enough to touch, but enough to let you see the glint in her eyes. “But funny. I like funny.”
There’s something bold in that, not flirtation, exactly, but honest and simple. You smile, slower this time. “Well… I like your necklace.”
Alexia glances down, fingers brushing the fine gold resting at her collarbone. “This? It’s nothing.”
“It’s nice,” you say. “Looks good on you.”
She tilts her head slightly, a question in her eyes. “You look… good. In your dress.”
You feel the blush rising before you can stop it. “Gracias,” you manage, awkwardly.
She smiles like she knows exactly how flustered you are and is being generous enough not to tease you about it. At the table, the tapas dishes are mostly empty now, half-melted ice cubes floating in the bottom of sangria glasses.
She’s still sitting across from you now, elbow on the table, chin propped in her hand, between you sits a shared plate of olives, a waitress had brought over.
You pick one up, chew slowly, then realise too late you’ve got the pit in your mouth and nowhere to put it. Your eyes dart toward the plate, then around the table, napkin? bowl? Earth to swallow you?
Alexia watches, blinking once. Then she gestures to her own empty glass. Taps the rim, tips it toward you slightly a signal.
You glance down at your wine glass, still with a finger of rosĂŠ clinging to the curve.
“Go on,” she says, and though the words are few, they land with an almost smug kind of confidence.
You delicately drop the pit into a glass. “I feel incredibly classy right now.”
She grins. “Very. Elegant.”
You laugh softly, covering your mouth. “You speak more English than you pretend to.”
She shrugs. “Only when… I want.”
You lift your brows, “So you don’t want to most of the time?”
She considers, eyes narrowing like she’s pretending to think. Then, very dryly “People talk too much sometimes.”
You let out a laugh. “Fair enough.”
She leans back slightly in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. Her fingers toy with the edge of the tablecloth as if she’s thinking of something but doesn’t know how to ask. “I… didn’t know who you were,” she says finally.
You smirk. “Same.”
“No football?”
“I knew you were someone,” you admit, “because of how people looked at you, but no, I didn’t know who you were.”
That makes her laugh soft, low, honest. “I like that.”
You glance sideways, picking at a grape. “Must be a relief, not being recognised.”
“Yes,” she says, then pauses, eyes flicking upward. “No. I don’t know. Is both.”
You nod. “Being seen’s not the same as being known.”
She points at you. “That. Yes. That one.” Alexia leans forward, elbow back on the table, “I try English,” she says. “Now. You laugh - not allowed.”
“I would never.” She raises a single brow. “…unless it’s really bad,” you add.
She gives you a look. “Okay. First try.”
You fold your arms dramatically. “I’m ready.”
She takes a breath, clearly building up to something. “You… have…” she squints, “very… calm face.”
That wasn’t what you were expecting. You blink. “Calm?” She nods, smiling a little, like she knows it didn’t land perfectly but still meant it. You tilt your head. “That might be the nicest weird compliment I’ve ever had.”
She nods again, more confident now. “Yes. Like… soft eyes. Not loud.”
You feel it then not the words, but the shape behind them and for a second, the language barrier stops mattering. You smile slowly, not breaking eye contact. “Thanks. You have nice eyes too.”
Alexia looks down, just briefly, brushes her hair behind her ear, the breeze picks up a little, curling along your bare shoulders. You shiver without meaning to, and before you can react, she picks up the light jacket from her lap and offers it over.
You hesitate, she gives you a look that says take it. You do and neither of you says anything else for a long time.
Alexia’s resting her elbows on the table again, chin in hand, watching you like you’re a puzzle she hasn’t quite decided whether to solve or just sit with.
“Be honest. Have you understood any of what I’ve said tonight?”
Alexia tilts her head. “Mmm… maybe thirty percent.”
You laugh. “That’s generous.”
She nods, serious. “Sí. I like your voice. Even when I don’t understand.”
That catches you, not dramatically, but enough that it lands somewhere a little too close to the centre of you. “Oh,” you say, unsure what to do with that. “Thanks. I like yours too. It’s very… Barcelona.”
She grins. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. A little rolled, a little confident. Sounds like you’re always saying something clever. Even if it’s not.”
Alexia laughs, pushing her hair behind her ear once again something you notice she does when she's obviously nervous. “I like when you talk with hands.”
You raise your brows. “I don’t—”
She mimics you instantly, hands fluttering up mid-sentence in mock frustration.
“Oh my God,” you groan, laughing. “I do that.”
“Like little bird,” she says, smirking.
“I’m gonna stop talking.”
“No, no,” she says quickly, shaking her head. “Please. Keep talking. I learn… you.”
You meet her eyes and there's a pause. It’s not flirtation, not yet. Just interest, bare, warm curiosity. You can feel it pressing gently between you like a question no one wants to phrase too directly.
So you give her something softer.
“Okay,” you say. “Lesson one.”
Alexia perks up, mimicking a classroom face. Hands folded neatly. “Sí, profesora.”
You resist the urge to laugh. “British slang. Ready?”
She nods.
“If someone’s being annoying, you call them a muppet.”
“Muppet?” she repeats, frowning. “Like the frog?”
“Exactly or the pig. All of them.”
She repeats it once more, slower. “Muppet.” Then points to herself, straight-faced. “Me?”
You grin. “Definitely not. You’re more of a menace.”
Alexia tilts her head. “That is good?”
You shrug, sipping your wine. “That depends”
She watches you for a second longer, eyes soft, almost amused. Then she leans back, stretching slightly, like she’s trying to shake something off. “Spanish slang tomorrow,” she says. “We trade.”
“Deal,” you reply, smiling. “But no football words.”
“No football,” she promises, then adds with a smirk “Maybe one. Small one.”
You roll your eyes. “Menace.”
She grins, the moment lingers light, uncertain, like something half-shaped and in the distance, someone calls your name, maybe your mum, maybe a cousin and just like that, the bubble breaks.
Alexia glances toward the sound, then back to you. “I go,” she says softly.
You nod, standing too. “Me too.”
For a moment, you both stand there facing each other, not quite sure how to part like the rhythm between you hasn't figured out its next beat yet.
So you just smile, “Good night, Alexia.”
“Buenas noches… muppet.”
You burst out laughing as she walks off, shaking your head, the warmth of it still buzzing in your chest.
☀️
The morning passes in a quiet, familiar rhythm your mother knocking softly on your bedroom door, your brothers bickering half-heartedly over hair gel and shirt buttons down the hallway. It’s all oddly soothing, being wrapped up in their noise again, since leaving the family home and moving out.
You sit cross legged on the floor with your mum, taking turns with the mirror propped up on a chair. She smooths a bit of colour onto her cheeks while you clip your hair up soft, elegant, a few loose strands left to frame your face.
Your dress is lilac, something easy and light. Strappy, with a flowing skirt and an open back that catches the breeze when you move. It’s not showy, but it feels like you.
Your dad sees you last. He blinks a bit too quickly and just says, “That’s a lovely colour, you look lovely sweetheart” like he’s trying not to ruin his own makeup with tears like mum was.
By the time you're all outside, the garden’s been transformed. White chairs lined in rows under the olive trees. Carmen’s teammates and friends milling about in tailored suits and dresses in soft summer tones, music trickling low through the speakers.
When the ceremony starts, it hits you harder than you expect watching Carmen come down the aisle, radiant and unshakable, Ben trying not to cry before she even reaches him. It’s the vows that really undo you. The way they speak to each other without flinching. No smoothing over, no shrinking, just love, in its purest form.
You feel the sting in your throat before you can stop it, blinking quickly as you dab beneath your lashes with a napkin someone hands you.
Afterwards, you’re handed a small cone of white and lilac petals. Everyone spills out toward the stone path that winds around the ceremony space, confetti station, Carmen called it. You take your place just near the front, adjusting your heels, trying not to get emotional all over again.
That’s when you feel it, just the lightest brush not a bump, not an accident a gentle nudge seemingly intentional. You glance sideways and she’s there. Alexia, standing beside you, calm and casual like she’s been there all morning.
Her dress is a kind of deep, metallic bronze sleeveless, backless, clinging like it was poured onto her. It catches the sunlight in all the right ways, like light wants to follow her. Her hair’s tucked up, makeup soft, but it’s the ink that draws your eyes.
Tattoos curl over her back in quiet lines and shapes, bold in some places, delicate in others. You catch a big cat, a few words you can’t translate, something that might be a heart. You have to look away before you stare too long.
She glances down at your cone of petals. then at your dress, “Same colour,” she murmurs.
You blink, startled slightly by the sound of her voice so close. You nod. “Lilac. Like fate.”
Alexia smiles. “Or good eyes.”
You look ahead, where the newlyweds are posing for photos, waiting for the cue. Everyone around you is laughing, distracted. You hum, adjusting your grip on your cone. “I like your dress”
She replies, “You… look happy today.”
That surprises you, you glance at her. “Do I?”
She nods. “Less heavy. Good colour for you, also.”
“Thanks.” You smile. “You’re still a menace.”
Alexia grins. “Cállate. Muppet”
You smile letting a breath out for a laugh lowering your head as you hear the photographer call out something in Spanish people raise their cones, laughter bubbling.
You lift yours too, side by side with her, ready to toss lilac into the air, her arm brushes yours, and neither of you move away. Just before the petals fly, Alexia glances sideways at you quiet, deliberate. “After confetti,” she murmurs, “maybe… drink?”
You smile, still watching the sky “Sure.”
The petals drift and fall like soft rain, laughter bubbling around you as Carmen and Ben duck under a storm of colour. You toss your handful a second too late, distracted her shoulder still pressed lightly against yours.
The applause begins to fade, the moment moving on, but Alexia doesn’t.
You glance to find her still beside you, hands now empty, her gold chain catching the sun.
“Drink” she says again, this time softer. No question mark, not quite, just an offering.
You nod before you think too hard about it. “Yes. Please.”
She takes a step back, lets you fall into step beside her without asking. You follow the curve of the garden path together, away from the crowd, past tables laid out with summer flowers and delicate wine glasses, toward the little outdoor bar tucked beside a stone wall draped in ivy.
The bartender smiles when Alexia steps forward. She orders in Spanish, clear and easy. You catch the word vermouth, and something that sounds like con hielo.
You blink at her. “Vermouth?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “My drink. Not sweet.”
You glance at the bar menu, half to avoid her eyes, half to stall. “Can I just get a rose wine?” you ask the bartender, more sheepishly than you mean to.
Alexia leans in a little. “Safe choice.”
“I usually get lemonade in it but I feel that would be bad here” you speak looking back in the direction you came you spot your mother watching and give her a look as Alexia is speaking Spanish to the bartender.
When you catch her saying, "Limonada" at the end, you turn your head back
“I ask, for you.” you give a look that she just smiles at, she picks a little umbrellas made for a cocktail off the bar and tucks into your hair making herself giggle as your drinks arrive. You both take them, then turn together like you’re following the same unspoken route. Not too far from the bar, just over to the low stone wall nearby, warm from the sun and shaded by a broad fig tree.
You sit side by side, not touching not speaking for a beat, both clearly both over thinking what to say, you take the little umbrella from your hair to inspect it, when Alexia gives you that look again that half-smirk, half-scheme expression that means she’s about to say something just to get a reaction.
“What?” you ask, wary but already smiling.
She shrugs, far too casually. “You.”
You blink. “What about me?”
“You’re such a muppet,” she says, sipping her vermouth.
You groan. “Seriously? You’re still on that?”
She nods. “It’s my best English word. Very strong. Very accurate.”
You laugh, helpless. “I should never have taught you anything.”
Alexia tilts her head thoughtfully. “Maybe. But now, I teach you.”
“Oh God.”
“No, no,” she insists, turning toward you, that gleam in her eye back again. “Is fair. You learn Spanish now.”
You set down your glass tucking your little umbrella in the glass. “Alright then. Impress me.”
She points to herself. “Yo.”
You nod. “I.”
Then she points to you. “Tú.”
“You.”
She smiles. “Very good. Now repeat.”
You go along with it. “Yo. Tú.”
She leans in a little, eyes glittering. Then she says it slower this time, like she wants to make sure it lands properly. “Tú eres muy guapa.”
You frown, trying to copy it. “Too eh-res... muy gwa-pa?”
She grins. “Perfect.”
“What does that mean?”
Alexia takes a sip of her drink, suddenly looking far too pleased with herself. “Not telling you.”
You blink. “What? Why?”
She shrugs. “Is more fun this way.”
You narrow your eyes at her. “Is it rude?”
“No.” Her voice is soft now, careful. “Is nice.” She’s watching you not just amused, but something quieter behind her gaze. Her dress catches the light, the curve of her tattoos like stories she’s letting you almost read.
“Is it a compliment?” you ask.
Alexia just raises her brows and repeats it again slower this time, “Tú eres muy guapa.”
You feel the words settle in your chest, even if you don’t understand them yet. There’s weight to them, a softness. “I’ll Google it,” you say eventually.
She smiles. “Not now.”
“No?”
“Later. When I’m not there.”
You study her, trying to read her without the help of a translation, but all you get is that familiar flutter, like something in you recognises that she's maybe flirting. You sip your wine again, trying not to smile too hard. “So what do I say back?”
Alexia taps her lip, pretending to think, then she leans closer, just enough to make you hold your breath. “Gracias,” she murmurs, voice low. “That’s all.”
You repeat it softly. “Gracias.”
She nods, eyes still on yours. “De nada.”
You sit there a moment longer in the quiet hum of the evening, in this small stretch of shade, it still feels like only you two are in existence.
Like maybe you don’t need the translation. You shift slightly on the stone ledge, setting your empty glass down with a quiet clink. You glance over at her.
You’re about to speak about it when she speaks.
“I teach you another.”
You look over, eyebrow raised. “Another mystery sentence?”
She smiles. “Sí.”
You huff a laugh. “Alright then. Go on.”
She shifts to face you a little more and says it slowly a gentle rhythm to the way it rolls off her tongue.
“Me gustas.”
You try it. “Me goo-stas?”
She shakes her head slightly, leans in, says it again, “Gus—like ‘goose,’ but softer. Me gustas.”
You mimic her. “Me gustas.” Alexia smiles, but doesn’t translate it.
“You not going to tell me?” you ask, already anticipating the answer.
“No,” she says, smug. “I like your face when you guess.”
You look at her, her knees almost brushing yours now, her drink nearly forgotten between you. “Is it nice?” you ask.
She shrugs, though her smile doesn’t fade. “Depends who says it.”
“And if you say it?”
Her gaze lingers on you, unreadable for a breath, “Still not telling you.”
You scoff. “You’re insufferable.”
She just raises her glass slightly, as if to toast your frustration, but before either of you can speak again, a shout rings out across the garden.
“Oye!” It’s Patri, grinning wide, already pointing toward a table on the lawn. “Beer pong!”
Carmen lifts two red cups in your direction like it’s a formal declaration. You can’t help the smile that creeps over your face.
Alexia stands, brushing invisible dust from her dress. “You ready?”
“Are you?” you counter, arching a brow. “I hope you’re not expecting to win.”
“I always win.”
“You’re going to be a nightmare, aren’t you?”
Alexia grins as she steps ahead, already starting to walk back toward the music, before she gets too far, she glances back over her shoulder catches your eye again, and with a faint smirk, repeats it under her breath, “Me gustas.”
You're not sure what it means, but you hope she says it again.
Someone’s set up a beer pong table near the garden wall, red cups already half-filled, teams forming in chaotic pairs. You’re pulled into the mix before you can think to resist Carmen shoves a drink in your hand, Patri’s already laughing like she knows something you don’t as you're put on her team, Alexia put on Carmens, and the crowd’s loud and loose with post-wedding energy.
Somehow, it happens every time it’s your turn to shoot, Alexia ends up opposite you, of course she does. She’s watching you with narrowed eyes and a smirk like she’s trying to intimidate you but you’re just having fun watching her lose.
She’s not... great, in fact, she’s bad and extremely not taking it well.
“This ball is too light,” she mutters after your third perfect shot lands, another cup sliding away from her side for her to drink.
You just raise your brows. “You’re joking, right?”
“No. It’s not... regulation.”
“It’s a garden table at a wedding, Alexia. Nothing is regulation.”
She glares down at the table like it’s personally offended her. Then looks up, grumpy, sulking and downs her drink. “The table’s not level either.”
You laugh. “Keep going. I want to hear the full list of excuses.”
“The cups are too close.”
“Uh huh.”
“My side is windy.”
“There is no wind.”
She doesn’t answer, just squints at you over the rim of another drink like she’s plotting your downfall.
Then it’s your turn again as it appears the rest who were playing preferred to watch you beat Alexia spectacularly so it became a 1vs1.
One easy flick of your wrist, plunk. Another cup gone from her side, Alexia groans, loud and dramatic, and turns away like she can’t bear to look at it.
“Come on!” you laugh. “Drink up, you haven’t even finished the last one!”
She glares down at the two cups now waiting for her. “This is unfair.”
“It’s literally the rules!”
“I hate this game.”
“No you don’t.”
“I do now.”
You laugh again, and she finally breaks a reluctant grin pulling at her mouth as she picks up both cups and clinks them together tipping one into the other before downing it like a woman defeated. Her nose scrunches at the taste. She mutters something in Spanish that definitely isn’t polite.
You raise an eyebrow. “What was that?”
She wipes her mouth, blinking. “I said you’re annoying.”
“Was it actually that?”
She nods solemnly. “More or less.”
“Say it again. Properly. Teach me.”
Alexia leans across the table a little, holding your gaze, and says it slowly, “Eres insoportable.”
You repeat it, with terrible pronunciation. “Eres insoporable.”
“Insoportable,” she corrects, smug again.
“And it definitely means annoying?”
She smiles wide. “You’ll find out.”
You hum, "I'm making a list in my phone to ask Patri to translate later"
She raises her eyes to yours and shakes her head, "Google. Later" she waves her hand way, "Wait til home"
It’s your turn again, another shot, another cup.
She doesn’t even pretend to be cool this time she just groans and drops her head back dramatically. “No. No, no, no. I want a new opponent.”
“Too late,” you grin. “You’ve started something now.”
“I didn’t start it.”
“You literally called me a muppet an hour ago.”
“That was affection.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes. This” she gestures at the table, then at your smirk, “this is war.”
You grin, cheeks aching from laughing, chest warm with more than just alcohol. Across the table, Alexia squints at you through mock outrage, and you just raise your drink to her. “To your downfall,” you toast.
She clinks her empty cup against yours with a grumble. “Muppet." and you both burst out laughing again.
You’re barely wiping spilled beer off your fingers before Alexia’s already pointing at the cups again.
“Another game.”
You raise your brows. “You’re serious?”
“I almost won.”
“You absolutely did not.”
“I was close.”
“You had four cups left.”
Alexia shrugs, drunk logic already smoothing her stubbornness into confidence. “I let you win.”
You laugh grabbing a beer bottle to fill the cups again, "Of course you did" You point at her, "I don't know much Spanish but.. Mierda"
You watch Alexia lean back laughing her hand clutching her stomach before you glance toward Carmen, Patri, and two more of Alexia’s teammates hovering near the drinks table. They’re watching you both now not subtly, either. Patri lifts her eyebrows at you in that 'hmm?' way that’s only half-mocking. Carmen has the smug smile of someone who’s decided she was right about something long before it happened.
You ignore them, Alexia's resetting the cups with a reckless, imprecise shuffle. “You in?”
You sigh dramatically. “Fine, but don’t start crying again when I win.”
“I didn’t cry.”
“You whined about the wind.”
Alexia doesn’t dignify that with a response just hands you the ball with a pointed gesture. “Ladies first,” she says.
You sink your first shot effortlessly, another groan from her, then she drinks and something shifts.
The more Alexia drinks, the better she gets. Her throws tighten, her hand steadies, and the smug grin on her face grows more confident with every cup you lose.
You squint at her after your third miss in a row, she gives you a look over the rim of your cup, you mutter under your breath as you drink your next penalty cup, "That wind really died down, huh?"
Alexia grins, she heard you, then plunk. Another one lands on your side and you sigh dramatically.
You glance over you still have an audience, like your increasingly ridiculous rivalry has become a full-on wedding sideshow as a couple more of the footballers have joined the little group, but you don’t care. You’re too focused on the way Alexia keeps watching you after each shot. Like each time she hits, she’s daring you to react. Like it’s not even about winning anymore.
You point at her, narrowing your eyes. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Yes.”
“You were terrible half an hour ago.”
She shrugs, cool as anything. “Motivation.” You stare at her, she just raises an eyebrow and says too casually “Me gustas, remember?”
You swallow, that familiar phrase again, still no translation, still no context but it lands heavier now.
You blink, then shoot and miss again Alexia grins wide and reaches for your next cup.
“You’re going to gloat forever, aren’t you?”
“Sí,” she says, laughing
☀️
The party sprawls out now as they set up the dinning room for the meal, games and music everywhere to occupy guests, people laughing too loudly, champagne corks popping mid-sentence, someone’s uncle challenging Carmen to a dance-off near the speakers.
You're pulled straight from the beer pong table by a group migrating toward a row of lawn games, you seem to have been adopted by the Spanish football first team. Patri tosses you a look like she’s ready for round three, but Alexia’s already trailing after you, stubbornly close, that competitive glint still alive in her wine-glossed eyes.
“Connect Four,” she says behind you, tapping your shoulder as you slow near the oversized version on the grass ahead.
You look back. “You sure? That’s a thinking game.”
“Exactly.”
You smirk, slotting in a red disc. “You’re really brave.”
Alexia raises her brows but doesn’t bite. She drops in a yellow one, eyes locked on the grid like she’s plotting world domination. You counter, she counters again. People are watching, not quite cheering, but hovering, definitely amused.
You lean sideways, pretending to inspect the board. “Your poker face is slipping.”
She doesn’t look up. “This is me focused.”
“Right.” Another move, then another, then click you drop the winning disc and let out a triumphant gasp. “Boom!”
Alexia steps back, blinking. “No.”
“Yes!”
She squints at the grid like it personally betrayed her. “That doesn’t count.”
You laugh. “What doesn’t count?!”
“I was distracted.”
“By what?”
She pauses, her cheeks flush, then she speaks, “Your… elbows.”
You almost choke on your drink. “My elbows?!”
“They were distracting.”
You’re laughing so hard now it’s almost embarrassing. “Just when I thought you couldn't be any more of a sore loser. This is worse.”
“I will win something tonight,” she insists, looking around like she’s about to challenge you to an arm wrestle, or chess, or a race to the drinks table.
“Nope,” you grin. “I’m on a streak.”
“I hate your streak.”
“You love it.”
“I hate it,” she repeats, but she’s smiling, her eyes lit up with the thrill of it all the game, the drinks, the way you keep meeting each other in these little pockets of the night where it feels like it’s just the two of you.
Someone calls your name, a cousin waving from the karaoke setup now forming near the terrace.
Alexia hears it too. “No,” she says immediately. “Not singing.”
“Oh, now you’re scared?”
“I fear nothing.”
“You fear losing.”
“I fear karaoke.”
You grin wide, stepping toward her like you might drag her there anyway. "I thought you feared nothing.
She steps back, holds up a finger. “If you make me sing,” she warns, “I’ll say more things in Spanish that you don’t understand.”
You pause, then lean in, just slightly. “I’m not sure that’s a threat anymore.”
Alexia blinks once then smirks and you catch sight of the Jenga tower across the lawn, tall and precarious.
You nudge Alexia’s arm. “Jenga?”
She raises her brows. “You want to lose again?”
“You lost last time.”
“Did not.”
“Did so.”
You’re already walking, Alexia follows, of course she does, brushing a hand along your arm briefly as she passes you. You pretend not to feel your whole body register it.
The tower’s almost your height, you face off like it’s a championship final. A few people hover again Carmen and Patri, drinks in hand, clearly watching from a distance, doing a poor job of pretending not to whisper about you both, but the rest of the world fades out when Alexia picks her first block.
The game begins slow, careful pulls, little smiles, narrowed eyes, utter silence between you and then it starts getting risky.
“You’re wobbling it on purpose,” Alexia mutters as you nudge a centre piece loose.
“I’m strategic,” you counter, not looking up. “Big difference.”
The stack sways slightly Alexia watches your hand like she’s studying a match replay.
When you finally slide the block free, she lets out a low whistle, “Lucky.”
“Skilled.”
“Lucky.”
Then it’s her turn, she kneels down slightly to reach one of the lower blocks her backless dress shifting as she moves, the shimmer of metallic brown catching the fairy lights strung above. Tattoos peek out like secrets across her shoulders and down her back. She glances up once, catches you watching her, and smirks. “Distracted?” she teases.
“By your elbows,” you shoot back.
She laughs, actually wobbles the tower with her shoulder, gasps, and steadies it again with the most dramatic gasp you’ve ever heard.
“See?” you say. “That was luck.”
“Cállate”
You grin and lean in closer, both of you now circling the tower like cats. “Careful,” you say as she reaches again. “Jenga’s a cruel mistress.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“So are you.”
“I’m passionate.”
“Right,” you say. “Passion’s what made you yell about the wind earlier.”
She pulls the block free clean and impressively quickly, she stands slowly, eyes bright, close to you now, close enough that your shoulders brush. Neither of you move. “You’re going to knock it over,” she says.
“I am not.”
“I can feel it.”
“You just want me to.”
“Maybe.” Your hand is on the next block, it slides, a hair’s width and sticks. You freeze Alexia leans in close to your ear, lowering her voice. “Muppet…” you giggle, the block slips from your grip the tower sways violently and crashes to the grass.
Laughter erupts around you, but you barely hear it. Alexia’s got that smug, dangerous grin again like she planned it all along.
She leans in and whispers something in Spanish slow, deliberate, impossible to understand but definitely smug.
You groan. “Not fair.”
“Very fair,” she says. “Me gusta ganar.”
“Translation?”
She shrugs innocently. “Guess.”
You narrow your eyes. “I swear if that means ‘I win’…”
Alexia’s already walking off with a victorious sway in her step, tossing a wink over her shoulder. You just shake your head, smiling helplessly.
She walks off like she’s just won the World Cup chin high, victorious strut, that smug little grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. You stand there a second, stunned by her dramatics, then you walk with pace after her. You never chase women and yet here you were literally chasing after one you didn't even know 24 hours ago.
“Hey,” you call, catching up to her just as she grabs another drink from a tray someone’s weaving through the crowd with. “Do that again.”
Alexia looks over her shoulder, amused. “Do what?”
“That” you mimic her wink, squinting one eye dramatically, “your little victory wink.”
She tries to keep a straight face, but her smirk betrays her. “You liked that?”
You’re already laughing, folding your arms. “Do it again.”
She turns fully toward you, drink in hand, eyes locked on yours then closes both eyes at the same time, you burst out laughing.
Instinctively you reach forward and touch her forearm at her side, “That’s not a wink, Alexia!"
She shrugs, fake-casual. “Yes it is.” She does it again with so much confidence.
“You’re malfunctioning.”
“Muppet.”
You nudge her arm, she bumps you back but doesn't pull back anywhere near the distance she had been, you lift your drink to her, eyes still dancing. “To your terrible wink.”
She taps hers against yours gently, her voice low, her gaze not leaving yours. “Eres muy guapa.”
There it is again that same phrase from earlier. You pause, holding her eyes. “Still not translating that one?”
She smiles, tilting her head. “Nope.”
You sip your drink. “Rude.”
Alexia leans a little closer, lowering her voice just enough for it to feel secret. “Maybe later.”
☀️
You hadn’t planned on dancing not in heels, not in this heat, not after at least three different games involving alcohol. But when the music shifted to something warmer, something with a heartbeat, Alexia found you effortlessly amongst your family, tugged your hand gently and tilted her head toward the garden dance floor.
You hadn’t said yes, but you also hadn’t said no and put up no fight whatsoever.
Now here you are her hand in yours, the lights strung above flickering golden, the music thudding faintly underfoot. She’s not a great dancer not in the traditional, spin you like a film scene way but she’s confident and playful, and that’s better.
She twirls you once, clumsily, you both laugh, “You’re going to dislocate my shoulder,” you tell her with a smile seemingly permanently fixed to your face when she was near.
Alexia just grins, you sway together in that loose way that isn’t quite a slow dance but definitely isn’t friendly distance anymore. One of her hands finds yours again not tight, not formal, just there. Holding it like she has every right to.
Your fingers slip together easily, her hair’s falling loose around her shoulders now, her dress still catching the light like copper fire. Every time she leans in close to say something in your ear, you feel the warmth of it curl down your spine.
It’s almost disappointing when you hear Carmen’s voice calling your name through the music.
You turn, laughing, she waves you over, she notices your smile fade ever so slightly, and beckons you like a mother would, you give Alexia a look and leave her on the dance floor one of her friends happily taking your place
“Oh, finally!” she says, eyes wide and dramatic. “I thought we’d have to physically separate you two with a broomstick.”
You roll your eyes. “We’re not—”
She lifts a brow. “Joined. At. The. Hip?”
“She made me dance!”
“She made you laugh. A lot.” Carmen folds her arms, mock stern. “You looked like teenagers. Very flirty teenagers.”
You try to dodge it, but you’re smiling too much to be believable. “We’re just messing about.”
“Mmm.” Carmen is not buying it.
You blink at her, suddenly curious. “Okay, serious question.”
Carmen perks up. “Finally. Go on.”
You lower your voice a little, keeping it light, casual. “What does ‘me gustas’ mean?”
Carmen stares at you. “Who said that?”
“Hypothetical question,” you say, holding up a hand. “Just tell me.”
She eyes you. “It means ‘I like you.’ Like… I like you. Not like ‘I like pizza,’ but you-you.”
Your stomach does a weird little flip, you cover it with a sip of wine. “Okay. Interesting.”
Carmen leans closer. “What else?”
You hesitate. “What about ‘eres muy guapa?’”
“Oh,” she grins. “That means… ‘you’re very pretty.’” You stop sipping Carmen squints at you. “Why are you asking these?”
“No reason.”
“Mmhm.” Her grin grows, all too knowing. “Just, you know, collecting phrases for your Spanish textbook?”
“Exactly.”
Carmen’s already backing away into the crowd, smug as anything. “Well, maybe your Spanish is better than you think, guapa.”
You glance back toward the dance floor Alexia’s dancing there, half-lit in the string lights, your breath catches as you realise the most stunning women you've ever seen thinks your pretty.
☀️
The dinning hall is now set up for the evening meal, round white-clothed tables stretch under woven lanterns, the sun setting into a gold haze over the hills. You’re sat with your parents and brothers, all of you a little sun-flushed and half full from the first two courses. Your uncle is telling a long-winded story you’ve already tuned out of twice.
You’ve got your phone hidden in your lap, screen dimmed low, lazily scrolling through your own Instagram feed mostly old holiday posts, blurry selfies, the odd sunset you’d thought looked profound at the time. You hadn’t expected to get a notification, but there it is at the top of your screen.
alexiaputellas liked your photo.
And not just any photo it’s from two years ago, she was scrolling your instagram, you blink, smile and tilt your screen slightly away from your brother clearly looking for some entertainment.
Your thumb hovers over the notification, and then instinctively you glance across the tables just casually. She’s over on the far side with Carmen’s teammates, half turned in her chair, laughing at something, her hand out as a women opposite handed her phone back over the table. She doesn’t look at you, which makes it somehow worse, or better, you can’t tell, but you were a topic of conversation amongst her friends.
You open your DMs and click on Patri’s name, you and her had shared polite messages after the hen do.
You: Tell Alexia she’s real smooth for liking a picture from two years ago
You barely have time to look up again when you hear it a burst of laughter from the table across the way, sharp and sudden. You catch sight of Patri, cackling as she shoves her phone toward Alexia. A few others are craning to see, all of them delighting in your digital callout.
Alexia's face is a picture, you can see the blush from here, you try not to smile. Fail and look back down at your plate like you didn’t just throw a spark into a very flammable situation.
Your phone buzzes again.
Patri: She’s gonna kill me but she says fue un accidente.
Patri : She also says you’re still a muppet.
You snort softly, enough for your brother to glance at you. “What’s so funny?”
You shake your head. “Just something stupid.” But your heart’s beating a little faster now, and when you risk another glance up Alexia’s watching you from across the tables.
You look back at your phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard, biting back a grin as you type.
You: Can I ask you to translate something for me?
It’s harmless, mostly, you know it'll get a reaction, you hit send, then glance up briefly, only to feel another buzz almost instantly.
Patri: Alexia said come here.
You look up properly this time, sure enough, Alexia’s watching you from across the way, her arm draped over the back of her chair she tips her chin toward you not quite a beckon, not quite a challenge and you know exactly what she’s doing.
So you stand excusing yourself and heading through the tables, a few heads turn as you approach, Alexia doesn’t say anything as you approach. Just points at you with a single finger and says, through a grin “No translation. You Google. Later. In home. In England.”
You can’t help the laugh that slips from you and without thinking or maybe very much with thinking you step in a little closer, gently grab that pointed finger, and hold it between yours. “You’re not my captain, darling,” you say, smiling up at her, “you can’t tell me what to do.”
She blinks, smiles wider, like she’s just been challenged and loves it, she leans a little closer her voice low and full of wicked amusement, “You don’t listen very good.”
You raise your brows. “I do when I want to”
“Stubborn.”
"I prefer determined"
You hear someone behind her whisper something someone else stifles a laugh but you’re not paying attention to anything now except the look she’s giving you. Finally, you release her finger with a little flick.
“Fine,” you say, stepping back. “But I’m still Googling it.”
“Later,” she says.
“At home?”
“In England,” she echoes nodding, laughing.
You walk back to your seat with your pulse dancing somewhere in your throat and the ghost of her hand still between your fingers.
You slide back into your seat, smoothing the skirt of your dress and reaching instinctively for your wine. Your cheeks are warm whether from the alcohol or Alexia’s grin, you’re not sure, probably both.
You lift your glass and take a sip, trying not to let the smile tugging at your lips give too much away, but your mum is already looking at you and not in the vague, distracted way she looks when she’s trying to figure out if the canapés had goat cheese in them. No this is the look.
She leans in gently, voice soft so only you can hear. “Is that the girl who’s been taking all your attention all day?”
You blink, then laugh quietly. “What happened to pretending not to notice things?”
“I gave up after child number three.” She nudges your arm. “So?”
You glance across the garden Alexia’s listening half-heartedly to something Patri is saying, but her eyes flick to yours over her shoulder the moment you look. She smiles just slightly and then pretends to be fully engaged in whatever story is being told.
You look back at your mum, exhale a breath through your nose, half-laughing. “She’s…” You shrug, a little helpless. “She’s nice. Funny. Annoying”
Your mum tilts her head. “Pretty.”
You nod. “Very.”
There’s a pause. You toy with your napkin, you’ve always been open with her. She was the first one you told about you liking girls. The first one you told when you first kissed a girl to.
So you don’t bother pretending now. “I think I like her,” you say, your voice a little smaller than before. “But it’s probably just the wedding. The sun. The wine. I've just got caught up in it all, it’s not like I’ll see her again, is it?”
Your mum gives you a knowing look the one she saves for when you pretend you’re being logical but your heart’s already halfway over the fence. “Stranger things have happened,” she says gently. “And you’ve always been a sucker for a complicated smile.”
You laugh. “Thanks, Mum.”
She pats your hand. “Just don’t let your head talk your heart out of something fun.”
You nod, quietly, you try to change the subject as dessert menus are being passed around, someone’s arguing about whether churros count as wedding cake, and Carmen is gracefully making her rounds in her sleek, glittering gown, hugging relatives and posing for photos.
But your mum isn’t letting this go. “Alexia,” she says again, as if you haven’t already been over this. “So she’s Spanish?”
You blink at her. “We’re in Spain, Mum.”
“I meant from here. Local.”
You nod reluctantly. “Barcelona.”
“Ah.” She smiles, too casually. “And is she…?”
You give her a look. “Yes, Mum. She’s gay.”
“Just checking.” She takes a sip of wine, but you can see her brain still turning. “So she plays for a team?”
“Yes.”
“Is she any good?”
“Mum.”
“What! I’m just trying to build a picture!”
Before you can answer, Carmen appears at your side, radiant and flushed from all the attention, crouching down slightly between the two of you. “Are we gossiping without me?” she asks, eyes darting between you and your mum with a knowing grin.
“Oh good,” your mum says brightly, turning to Carmen like she’s been waiting for backup. “You’ll know. Tell me more about this Alexia. She seems lovely.”
Your stomach sinks slightly. “Mum—”
But Carmen just lights up with mischief. “Oh, Alexia?” she says, pretending to think. “Captain of Barça. National treasure. Stubborn. Competitive. Terrible loser.”
“She’s been very sweet with my daughter,” your mum says.
Carmen glances at you. “Oh yes. Very sweet.”
You shoot her a warning glare. She ignores it.
Your mum continues, relentless. “Is she seeing anyone?”
“Mum!”
Carmen laughs, delighted now. “She’s not. But she is very picky, I'm not aware of her dating many people at all, the bigger she got the less she did it.”
Your mum leans in conspiratorially. “She liked one of her photos from two years ago.”
"How do you even know that?" You asked, your mum simply pointed to your brother beside you.
Carmen’s face lights up like Christmas. “No she didn’t.”
“She did!” your mum confirms, like this is a joint investigation. “And then this one had the nerve to act like it wasn’t a big deal.”
You hide your face in your hands.
Carmen pats your shoulder. “It is a big deal. That’s the Instagram version of writing someone’s name in a notebook and drawing hearts around it.”
Your mum nods solemnly, “Exactly.”
You peek between your fingers. “Can you both please find another hobby?”
Carmen grins and gets back to her feet, smoothing her dress. “I have to go be charming again but don’t worry, I’ll let Alexia know she’s already passed inspection.”
You groan. “Carmen”
She walks away backward, grinning, and says, “Your mum likes her. That’s basically marriage in Spain.”
You drop your head to the table, your mum just pats your back, smug as anything, “I’m good at this,” she says. “Admit it.”
You mutter into the tablecloth, “I should’ve sat at the kids’ table.”
☀️
The laughter still carries on behind you a soft chorus of music, chairs scraping, someone yelling out a slurred toast in Spanish as your family begins to slip away from the glowing lights of the wedding. The night has worn on, the heat finally giving way to a cooler breeze, and the sky overhead is scattered with stars.
Your heels click softly against the stone path as you walk alongside your parents and your middle brother, all of you drifting slowly back toward the house.
Your mum’s arm is looped around your dad’s, and she’s humming some old wedding tune under her breath. Your brother’s rubbing at his neck like he might have pulled something during the earlier, aggressive limbo game.
You’re quiet, restless in your own skin, because you’d been waiting.
You hadn’t said it out loud, not to them, not even to yourself really, but somewhere in the slow moments between dancing and dessert and that sun-drunk laughter, you’d been hoping that you might catch her one more time.
A glance, a word, a stupid half-argument about who actually won Jenga. Something, but as you all say goodnight to lingering cousins and sleepy toddlers being carried back inside, you glance around one last time, and she’s not there.
The chair she’d been sitting in earlier is empty, the space by the bar where you'd sat together after the ceremony is dark now.
You slow a little behind your parents as you near the main house, your steps soft on the old terracotta tiles, one last glance over your shoulder. Still no sign of her.
Your mum looks back at you, noticing the lag. “You alright, love?”
You nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just tired and my shoes are hurting”
She gives you a look that says she doesn’t believe you as you take your heels off but she lets it go.
As you step inside, the coolness of the villa brushes over your bare shoulders. You’re holding your shoes in one hand, dress swinging lightly around your legs. You tell yourself it’s silly, you barely know her, you won’t see her again. You weren’t expecting anything, but still, you were hoping.
And when you crawl into the big unfamiliar guest bed, in the quiet hum of night, you stare up at the ceiling for a long while the sounds of celebration muffled now through thick walls.
You don’t cry, you don’t ache, but the pillow still smells like sun cream and wine and a day you weren’t ready to let go of.
☀️
It’s well past 3am, the villa is silent now, thick with the hush that only comes after a long, sun-soaked day of celebration. The kind of quiet that hums just beneath the surface, like the air’s still catching its breath.
You’re lying on top of the sheets, in your tank top and soft cotton shorts, scrolling aimlessly, light from your phone casting shadows on the wall and then tap. You freeze. Tap. Tap-tap.
You sit up slowly, the curtain flutters as you move it aside and then, with a confused squint, you push the window open.
There she is, Alexia, standing below in the garden, where moonlight pools across the grass like spilled milk, hands clenched, shoulders slightly hunched like she’s not sure if this is a good idea or a very bad one.
You lean against the sill, still a little dazed. “Can I help you?” you ask, a soft smile playing on your lips.
She tilts her head, that familiar smirk tugging at her mouth. “I wanted to say… was nice, meeting you.”
You rest your forearms on the window frame, chin tilted just slightly. “You threw rocks at my window to say that?”
“Yes.” A pause. “Romantic, no?” You bite back your grin and your brows lift Alexia shrugs below you. “Maybe not romantic or smart.”
You huff a laugh and shake your head. “What would you have done if I didn’t hear you?”
She grins, wolfish. “Climbed.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You’re wearing heels.”
She holds up her hand, fingers spread. “Footballer legs.”
You rest your cheek against your arm, watching her. Her hair’s pulled back now, messier than it was earlier, her dress still clinging to her but a jacket slung over her shoulders since the temperature had dropped.
There’s a pause, then you say it, soft, teasing. “You’re not very good at goodbyes, are you?”
She kicks a bit of stone with her foot. “No.”
“I was looking for you,” you admit before you can stop yourself. “Earlier.”
That catches her off guard her eyes flick up quickly, like she wasn’t expecting you to admit it. “I know,” she says.
You smile slowly. “Stalker.”
Alexia smiles back. “Romantic.”
Then she steps back one pace, eyes never leaving yours. “Okay. I go now. Let you sleep. My lift home is waiting”
You don’t say anything right away. Don’t want to break it, but as she turns slightly, you call softly, “Alexia?”
She looks back, you hesitate then grin. “I lied. I’m totally Googling what you said to me earlier.” Lying again that you didn't already know
She shakes her head, laughing silently, then calls up “You won’t find it right. Not if you spell it how I said it.”
You gasp dramatically. “You tricked me?”
Her grin widens. “Always.”
She starts walking away, then throws one last glance over her shoulder. “Sleep good, muppet girl.”
You watch until she disappears behind the trees, then you close the window softly and slide back into bed. This time, when your head hits the pillow, you’re smiling and sleep comes easy.
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bullsh1tterz ¡ 10 months ago
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A blink, then the littlest of chuckles. "You're a smart kid." He tells him, hand reaching out to point his way as the smallest, most unreadable smile of the twenty first century remains plastered to his features. "Kinda like that, yeah" he nods. "'cept I don't believe I'm all bad, kiddo." a small shrug. "Everyone's got a mix in 'em - y'can't physically be all bad 'nless you're an exception to that rule." Which some are. Some definitely are; but even the world's most vicious dictators and irredeemable psychopaths have had to them so much as a single quality which one could deem a general positive. Such qualities are never grounds for redemption after one has gone too far, they never are, but they undeniably link them to human kind. Perhaps, though, in a way human kind itself is never ready to process - the fact that the vicious and terrible are human and not fundamentally foreign from their state of existence - that one is not separate from the innate traits in them which might fester into heinous, iredeemable horrors.
Adam is, perhaps, a much milder and less lethal case - hell, he's righteous - but he remains such a case nonetheless; a microcosm of the more fatal inflection of the trope. "'s just that I've got more bad than good 'n here." The smile doesn't fade, but falters, previously pointed hand now pressing against his own chest. "Y'don't gotta be all bad to be an asshole, y'just gotta be bad enough." a shrug, the smile leaving him. "'m sure it's even the same with your mom. She's good and nice at times and a total bitch at others, no?" The sign of an impeccable manipulator.
And again, as the kid continues to speak, Adam finds himself reverting to - referencing - older times, vicious times. Acceptance. Flaws. The agony of being one's self when one mustn't be such a self; when people expect the personhood of everyone around them to match their perception of what it should be. He sighs. He doesn't know what the kid is talking about and there's no way on earth he's going to guess that. To him, it was bisexuality. To him, it was his brutal honesty. To him, it was his innate hatred and cynicism towards the world. To the kid, it must be something. Damned he'll be if he pries it out of him, no. It's not his place. And yet he's compelled to lighten the load somehow, some way.
"I've been called a freak 'n I'm still here." he begins, taking a step forward and crouching enough to the other's height. "The funny part's that they didn't even call me a freak over the right stuff - it was just the stuff they thought was wrong with me." A little head tilt, frown present yet empathetic. There's a little sigh that leaves him. "How old are ya, kid?" he asks. "Can't be older than sixteen." he replies to himself, mostly, but he does leave him a window there to correct him. "I'm twenty seven. That's at little over ten years on ya." index and middle finger drum up to brush against the camera hanging around his neck. "I don't fucking know jack about what my purpose is." He rises up, finding the nearest stool and sitting as he speaks.
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"It's fine if somethin's missin'. There's always gonna be a blank bit o' ya, that's how we people work." He turns to the kid, not motioning for him to sit beside him but giving him an expression which, in very subtle manner, suggests it would not be ill-recieved. "The good news is... that's proof you're no monster, kid. Monsters ain't walkin' around wonderin' what their sense o' purpose is or wishin' ta find what's missin' in 'em." A little lean. "Whatever it is you are - the bits o' ya that y're so intent on hidin' - there'll be people out there who don't give a single fuck."
Aside from the passing possibility that the child is a serial killer, which Adam now thoroughly doubts but still cannot quite remove the smidgen of skepticism tethered into, Adam is almost pretty sure he wouldn't care what the kid's big dark secret is. No matter how big. Or how dark. With the nature he sees before it, there's the slightest and most negligible chance that this kid has done or is doing something which Adam would be repulsed by. But, then again, he can only really truly know if he comes to hear it. And he's never the type to pry his way into such.
"And there are gonna be people that like ya for it or in spite of it or whatever else - everyone's annoyingly different." A pause. "Does your family ever tell ya that sorta thing? That- they're not the only bastards in the world who'll accept ya?" Oh, shit, wait - he just asked a question. That's not good. That's not good at all; now the other must think he's taken an interest!! Because, well, he has. But he wouldn't want that to be known, no, now that's grounds for trouble.
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he can't help the way his feelings uncomfortably stir : he doesn't thank the other or insist any further , ( because adam is , after all , an adult , ) but the word "worth" still pricks him in a way that gave him the same itching , irritated lump as the word "deserve" did . he wants to resist , decline , insist : but you do . no matter how meek and timid the niwa perpetually seemed , weren't feelings like those still his own ? to dispense and allot wherever , to whomever he liked . had he the words to express any of this , then maybe he would have balled up his fists a little at his side and stood his ground until adam accepted it .
instead , he stays as still as he can and listens , unable to help the way his eyes glide shy away from the other's --- like a nervous animal hoping not to get eaten , a dog with another's teeth bared close , far too close to its nose .
delusions ... right . what confrontation he's avoided and tried to muster up all sorts of excuses for , he suddenly feels chided over . ' kind of like --- ' he hesitates just on the brink ; feels his thoughts lurch at the thin , sliced edge of the conversation , a chasm that rips itself open right in front of him and whose deep , open plummet makes his heart sink and thud in his chest . ( adam would either immediately hate him for this , or end up shocked at the sheer hidden guts and gal it took for it . maybe even both . ) nevertheless , daisuke verbally leaps : ' like the way you kind of ... talk like you're all bad , even though you really aren't ? '
it's not the place for comparison , he knows --- but he can't help the times he had wondered whether or not there would ever be any sort of light for him . what was good , what was evil ... ? did a drop of poison always pollute the entire well ? did a weed in a field render it foul and infertile ? cherubs were said to only know peace and wear smiles ; in its shadows , the devil and all its stormy leers and grim brooding could be concluded a devil for as long as these things remained a truth .
even thieves had their reasons . their little white lies ; their rampant delusions . he's never known whether or not good intentions could make up for cardinal sins , but if he could have told adam the truth , here and now , what would the other have said , then ? would he have lent mercy , even more sympathy and encouragement , no matter how rough and crass ; no matter how bitter and angry , to the sorry kid --- criminal --- raised from birth like all of his ancestors to fall out from innocence and to endlessly steal ? his family might have been the entire reason for his woes , beginning with an ancestor of hundreds , maybe thousands of years ago , a curse --- but , after so much time , he still cared for everyone . his mother , his grandfather , a father he barely felt he knew ; the artworks he had laid his hands on , even his other self .
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' i just ... ' if anything , he wished his mother really was here right now . to hear what she might say to an ordinary person when all the other times he had tried to declare that he was going to give up thieving , he had been met with nothing but a chorus of pleads and tears and demands and declines . ' ... they're the only ones who accept me , too . they know --- parts of me that no one else knows about . that i'm too scared to show to strangers or ... even my friends . ' his flush reddens a little , even more . his voice shrinks and stays infinitesimally small . ' i just don't want people to hate me . what if someone points and --- and calls me a freak or a monster ? what if it's the truth and everyone's right ? what if i can't change or --- or fix it ? '
a beat . ' i mean , whether or not it's my fault , isn't there something still wrong with me ? ' a breath . ' i'm so stupid and i keep thinking --- wondering , maybe i'm not any good for any of it . not my family or strangers or ... o-or anybody . ' and just like that , lifting an arm to rub a sleeve across his dry lips and hide away his mouth for however briefly , he apologizes again . ' sorry . i didn't --- i didn't mean to ... i just don't know what i'm doing . it feels like everyone knows what they want in life and how to talk and ... be normal , but me . and i don't know how to fix it . i never know just ... what's missing . '
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nicolillies ¡ 3 months ago
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part 2 of the owl prince 🦉 a stoliz swan princess inspired au
Part 1
the owl prince details below (just me yapping)🔻
I’m still outlining what i want to happen so things may change a bit. I don’t plan on making an ao3 fic, maybe in the future. Just art for now. Art is just concepts for this au, not a formal comic yet.
AU rant:
In this au, they still meet as kids and Paimon still buys Blitz for a day but Tilla finds out about Cash made Blitz steal. She and Blitz return the stolen items and Mr. Butler who is chill like that keeps it between them. Imp solidarity.
Paimon, who doesn’t want to deal with a sad Stolas, wants to have Blitz return every summer to keep his son happy enough to go through with his arranged marriage.
To say sorry for stealing Tilla says Blitz should give stolas a gift. But Blitz doesn’t know what, and decides to give Stolas a cheap necklace from the circus gift shop. It becomes one of Stolas’ treasured possessions.
So Blitz visits Stolas every summer for a week (queue the “this is my idea” montage) up until the circus fire happens and Stolas gets married. From here we follow canon pretty much until Ghostf**kers with occasional swan princess line references. The “what else is there?” conversation occurs during Full Moon. The day after Blitz and Millie come back from their Ghostf**kers job, the news explodes because Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia has gone missing. Blitz decides to investigate.
Stolas has been cursed into his eldritch owl form during the day, and only the light of the moon on the lake water lets him change back at night. Part of the curse is he can’t leave the lake or he stays trapped in eldritch form forever. The lake is on a forgotten Goetia family property somewhere in the edges of the Pride ring (or maybe in a different ring idk). The property belonged to Stolas’ mother, it has been abandoned since her death.
Obviously Andreaulphus and Stella are responsible for cursing Stolas. Idk somehow Barbie comes across Stolas and they start bonding. The curse Stolas is under is ancient soul magic that can only be broken by a ritual where a vow of everlasting love is made and proven to the universe. Problem is Stolas doesn’t know anyone who would do that for him.
— End of ranting
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anakinstwinklebunny ¡ 9 months ago
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older sugar daddy!anakin who's paying for your postgrad, just cuddles you after a long day of studying 😩
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TW: none really, just fluff and soft praises cause bunny loves dilf!ani :3
Author's note: I love you, give me more..let your fantasy free. Also, today's my birthday, when it's posted, I'm sleeping (thanks to the queue). But I want to thank YOU for this year. In September, I celebrated without all you knowing probably, my one year on this app. One year. Year ago, I'd not even imagine that one of my dreams would come true - to post MY work, something people will enjoy..you guys made it real and for that I thank you so much! Hugging all 622 of you!!! <3333333
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It had been one of those days where nothing seemed to go right. Your brain was fried from the constant cycle of lectures, readings, and assignments. The textbooks in front of you blurred whenever you tried to focus on yet another chapter of dense material, so it was no use.
You felt drained—mentally and emotionally. All you wanted to do was crawl into bed and forget about postgrad for a little while.
The soft click of the apartment door opening snapped you out of your haze. You heard the familiar shuffle of Anakin’s shoes being kicked off, his expensive, cashmere-wool blend coat draped over the chair. Before you even had the chance to look up from your mountain of notes, he was beside you, his presence filling the room with warmth and comfort you so much craved at the moment
"Hey," he greeted quietly, his deep voice gently vibrating in your ear. He could immediately sense the tension around you, see the exhaustion written all over your profile side. Without asking, he leaned down to kiss your burning temple that was heated up from way too much information for one day
Not taking your tired eyes from the whatever you were trying to focus on, your nostrils could pick up the familiar scent of him—clean, warm, with a hint of vanilla and cinnamon
Dear heavens..
"Long day?" he asked softly, his large hand coming to rest on your shoulder, thumb gently brushing the back of your neck. You closed your eyes at the contact - it felt so good, to just being able to feel the all the stress and tension slowly melt down your spine
Well, Anakin's hands were magic. In every way. They could tear you apart, pull you back together and make you beg for more. Yet today, you were way too tired to beg him to do anything
"You have no idea," you sighed, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned into his touch. “It feels like this coursework is never-ending.”
Anakin’s lips curled into a soft, understanding smile as he tilted his head, studying your tired expression. "You’ve been at it for hours. I can tell." He glanced at the textbooks, notebooks, and laptop scattered around you. It was impressive, to say the least, but even him knew you needed to slow down "You need a break."
Before you could protest, Anakin was already moving. He gently closed your laptop, setting it aside along with your textbooks, making sure they were out of reach so you wouldn’t be tempted to keep working. At first it brought you a quicker heartbeat, to see him just so casually act like it when you still had so much to do “Come here,” he murmured, reaching out to you. "You’ve done enough for today."
Yet, you didn’t hesitate. As tired as you were, the moment he opened his arms, you were drawn to him like a magnet. You slid into his embrace, sinking into his broad chest as he wrapped you up in the warmth of his body.
Your cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his sweater, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It was grounding, a gentle reminder that you weren’t alone in all of this. He was here, as he always was, making everything seem a little less overwhelming.
“You’re working too hard, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice tender as he massaged your scalp before gently threaded his long fingers through your hair, brushing it away from your face. "You need to rest."
You sighed, sinking further into his embrace. Dammit, if he keeps it up, you'll fall asleep "I just want to get through this semester." you confessed
Anakin pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head before his hand moved to caress your back “And you will. You always do.” His voice was filled with quiet confidence, the kind of unwavering belief in you that never failed to make your heart swell.
“You’ve been taking care of everything else,” Anakin murmured after a long moment of quietness, his voice a soft rumble in your ear. “Now let me take care of you.”
You felt a lump form in your throat, overwhelmed by how much his simple presence soothed you. He always knew when to step in, offering comfort without needing to ask for anything in return. It wasn’t about money or gifts—this, right here, was what made him your anchor. The way he could make you feel safe and cherished, no matter how heavy the world felt on your shoulders.
"Thank you," you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. You pressed your face further into him, breathing him in, the scent of him calming your racing thoughts. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."
"You’ll never have to find out," he replied softly, kissing the top of your head. "I’ve got you."
You shifted slightly, your legs curling up as you snuggled deeper into him, finding the perfect spot in his lap. His hand gently cradled the back of your head, fingers sliding through your hair with a touch so tender it made your heart flutter.
"I’m not letting you out of my sight for the rest of the night."
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TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @bimbo-baggins17
(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)
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mxxnlightwriting ¡ 7 months ago
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Okay, but not knowing the context does make this line much funnier 😂 Thank you for tagging me!
Last Line tag
Thanks for the tag, @at-thezenith!
Gently tagging: @tabswrites @mxxnlightwriting @revenantlore and anyone else who wants to join!
Giving zero context for this one because I think it's funniest that way. From The Willing and The Chosen:
Getting hammered would certainly ruin her sister's birthday...
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safe-smuttin ¡ 3 months ago
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8 days (March 23) and posting will open and stay open for two weeks (April 5)
so it's not too late to dust off that piece of smut (or not-smut) that you wanna finish - and make it safe!!
sharing the link for the collection on ao3 and will also share it again on the 22nd so everyone has it the day before posting 🩷🧡💛💚🩵
safe smuttin' ao3 collection
if ya would like a refresher on the prompts or anything else you can find it all here
REMEMBER when you do post if ya make a post here tag @safe-smuttin so we can reblog ya 🩷🧡💛💚🩵
PLZ REBLOG TO SPREAD THE WORD! 🩷🧡💛💚🩵
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kyri45 ¡ 6 months ago
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✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 23/12✨
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Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~
@boonalina ha chiesto: Question: Why does Wukong's biblically accurate form have two faces? Also, was there some inspiration for you that made you want to design him like that? (Since I know he doesn't have any canonical Kaiju form in LMK) Also also, DAMN that Kaiju fight was so freaking pretty!! The colors were so well done!
thank you!! He has 3 actually, but in the panels you can see 2 bc the third is facing away from the camera aha.
Anonimo ha chiesto: would you make a Shadowpeach bio parents au zine?
yes I would. But it requires an enormeous amount of organization, plus you need multiple people to organize a zine, from contacting, to marketing, to production, to logistic etc… I don’t have the time right now as I’m already working.
@stro-lmk-enjoyer ha chiesto: Head canon that Red Son uses/used to use the ‘rubber duck’ method while working. The rubber duck method is: when making something by yourself you may get stuck/stressed out because you can’t find a solution to a problem. Have a rubber duck on your desk just so you can verbally explain your problem, which could help you solve it by actually hearing it out loud. But a side effect of this is now Red Son will talk to himself while he works, even if it does help it still freaks his parents out hearing him mumbling to himself when they pass his room. Just something I learned recently when watching a video about writing a characters backstory 👍 I thought you might like this too! Bye <3
i know need Red Son just talking about project to a cute rubber duck and MK finding it adorable.
Anonimo ha chiesto: Will LBD come back ? Even if it is just in a dream ?
maybe
Anonimo ha chiesto: how old is MK ? Like 18-21 ???
almost 22.
@haru7110 ha chiesto: IS MEI IMMORTAL LIKE MK AND REDSON IN THE SHADOWPEACH AU??? I NEED TO KNOW!! Fornoreasonwhatsoeverobviouslyhahahahaha (angst purposes)
no Mei is not immortal, but I would guess she has a lifespan slightly longer than average bc of her family.
@cutvdo ha chiesto: When you first draw Red Son in his human form he looked small, but later he looks bigger (probably from you getting more comfortable drawing him). I like to think he changed his human form a bit because he found out MK likes big man
this is the best conclusion ever. He would fr fr
Anonimo ha chiesto: Guess you could say MK got his own personal monkey tree
omfg-
@aizieweex ha chiesto: Hey Kyri!!! I LOVE your art, aaaand thanks for the recent repost of my animatic (or animatik?...I honestly don't know which is more correct, I'm not a native speaker at all), I literally screamed, lol (And still screaming). I wanted to ask, how many parts of the comic are you counting on? Do you already have a certain planned number of chapters? Anonimo ha chiesto: Hello! How long will the shadow peach bio parents au be?
there will be 9 parts in total. I don’t know the exact number of chapters left but I can assume around 30.
@copyrightedbystarkindustries ha chiesto: Love your art!!! Are you planning on putting shadowpeach au stuff on your redbubble in the future?
Yes I do! But first I need to finish my job which will be more or less on the 20th of January.
Anonimo ha chiesto: Does MK use a glamour to hide some scars or something his parents aren’t supposed to find out about ?
yes
@twilight-bai-he ha chiesto: When you said during the livestream that MK will have a new outfit when he is magical girl, What do you mean by that ?
that he will eventually own a new outfit as “official outfit” let’s say. That isn’t his temporary fighting outfit he has now.
@magician-kitty ha chiesto: You think Mac will get more flustered now that Wukong’s more muscular thanks to all that weight lifting from the previous chapters?
a little bit yes.
@whotookfinn ha chiesto: Hey!! I’m absolutely in love with your art, it’s so beautiful and wonderful and IM OBSESSED. Anyway, I’m not sure if you’ve been asked this before, but who’s your favorite lmk character to draw?
macaque and Mk, they fluffy.
Anonimo ha chiesto: I HAVE A QUESTION! after your shadowpeach AU will be finished will you do other lmk Au????
nope.
@cjtuy ha chiesto: My question is about tang and pigsy are they married I've always wondered this
no they are not married, but it’s something they have been thought for a little bit. They known each other for years and got together for one. They know they work very well as a couple, and marriage would only be a more “official” way to show their union. It’s on their mind, maybe they will plan it in the near future
Anonimo ha chiesto: Have you seen that Brandon Roger's clip where he loses his kid? I can just imagine macaque going through that right now with mk being kidnapped. "Mothers adrenaline is kicking in!!" "have you seen my son, he's about this tall, clearly gay but we haven't had the talk" https://youtu.be/dJJUFrENZ_o?si=lbacsYlJr8XpaDQQ (this is the sound just in case)
LMAO I know that video by heart yes absolutely those would be the parents.
Anonimo ha chiesto: In the Bioparents AU, is Redson actually going to be able to court so Mk in the end after the whole celestial situation?
they will have time to do their stuff after the heaven shenanigans.
@ashmeertheimp ha chiesto: I hope you are having a lovely day/night and are healthy and well AND TYSM FOR THAT SPICYNOODLES KISS I LOVED IT AND MY HEART WAS ABOUT TO BURST! Anyway I was wondering if mk and Redson parents are gonna have quality time with there Nephew in spirt/potential son in law?
mm yes. Post heaven shenanigans but yes.
@cpazy ha chiesto: About that,
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It means that Mac and MK's powers have to do with the moon cycle, like on a full moon they get stronger or something like that? And if there is an eclipse where the moon turns red, their powers would go out of control?
Yes, but the opposite. On a full moon they are weaker, while on a new moon they are stronger.
Anonimo ha chiesto: Hello! Not a question but I just love and ADORE your shadowpeach bio parents au! ❤️ Recently you had posted about LMK fic recommendations, I wanted to recommend "The Constellations Within Us" and it's sequel "Epilogue: Axis" (ongoing) by cloud_somersault on AO3. It's one of my favorite LMK/Shadowpeach fics! The writing and world building are stellar and it includes similar themes as the ones in your comic, like the themes of reconciliation, shadowpeach angst and repairing their friendship and their joint custod- I mean- mentorship of MK! It's a really good fic and I highly recommend giving it a read! https://archiveofourown.org/works/48308065 And again, love your comic so much! Have a great day! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
aaahhhh I will definetely check them out!
@astro-nomaly ha chiesto: Per ur Bio Parents AU, what happens when a courtnapping occurs, but the person getting napped isn’t actually into the courtnapper, and doesn’t want to be napped? Does courtnapping have a “leave whenever you want” clause or..? (I love ur au akshhenwb)
they are allowed to refuse anytime. If the kidnapper doesn’t allow the he’s a dick
@thecardboardbutterfly ha chiesto: Since everyone is starting to fear for tomorrow, I decided to share my convoluted thought I got yesterday night at like, 3AM to lighten the mood a bit (.3.)~* So Technically, given that Lmk is very much based on Journey to the West, maybe it's not that much of a stretch to call Lmk fan content of JTTW, like some kind of future AU or something. Which means your AU is fan content of Lmk. See where I'm getting at? Because your comic is so popular in the fandom, there is fan content of your AU out there, which is already fan content. Which means we reached a point where we have fan content (fanarts and various inspirations of the bio parents AU) of fan content (said bio parents AU) of fan content (Lmk) of a piece of content (JTTW). The chain is GETTING LONGER BOYS. I personally think it's funny. My apologies for everyone who lost their brain/ last remaining braincell reading this x)
omg. It’s a fan-inception!
Anonimo ha chiesto: Will Red Son and MK ever have a bad date?
I like to believe EVERY date will have would be comically bad. But I think that’s because they still need to understand that they don’t fall under the “typical demon date” or “amatonormativity” umbrella. The best date they could have is just them training and having lunch later, or them playing videogames or netflix and chill.
@sollythesalt ha chiesto: Dumb question but do you remember the scene in lmk where Wukong said he has stage fright? I wonder if you're gonna do something with that knowledge…. Ps: Keep doing your magic queen we love you and your art✌️💅
oh u bet I did
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kabr0ztrousers ¡ 3 months ago
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I fucking love when you do Portals, if you’re not bored already with this topic may i ask another? i’ll be waiting in your queue🥰🫦
Kabr0z Writes episode 92: Communion
Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!
CWs: Portals; freeuse; CNC; religious mentions and ceremony; public sex; exhibitionism;
A/N: I was actually struggling for inspiration today... Whatever would I do to make sure I'm not retreading old ground. Thankfully the algorithm came to my rescue while scrolling for inspiration. Is it blasphemy? It's certainly not respectful.
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These were rapidly becoming your favourite underwear. After the coffee shop? Then that "issue" with tuning them between connections? Best sex of your life. The only issue is, after all that, however would you top it?
That's the question that plagued you as you walked into town. You were wearing your portal undies, because of course you were, but what can a girl do to transgress some social boundaries on a Sunday morning?
Wait. It's a Sunday. The beauty of rural Wales is the massive proportion of churches to people. You barely had to walk half a mile and you found one. Open doors, organ softly playing as the occasional person slid through the front room to the main church. A quick selfie, posted to just the right website along with a freshly-generated session code. A tap, a swipe, and the app locked. Four hours on the clock, that's long enough for a church... Session? Worship? You wondered what the actual verb for attending church is as you took a pew and the bloke in the robe took the pulpit.
God he was boring. Something Jesus, something heaven, something repentance. You were just about to get up and leave when it started. The metal disc in your underwear buzzed insistently, then the portal opened.
For a moment, nothing happened. Cool air passed over your pussy, before being replaced with hot breath. A finger traced your entrance as you sat there, trying not to show off that something was interfering with you. The soft touch was easy to pass off. Sure, whoever this was felt good, but after what you're used to with these, this wasn't hard to hide.
What was harder was when the finger pushed in. Maybe the setting was getting you more hot and bothered than you thought, or maybe you just needed this. The gasp was hard to swallow, especially as another two fingers joined in. The three fingers filled you, turning and angling themselves in ways no lover would be able to without a magic portal fleshlight on the other end. You pulled your phone out of your skirt pocket to check the app, who's connected?
Who else. It's WolfDaddy again. You put the phone back before anyone spotted you. At least, you hoped you did. The sounds of him stirring your cunt were soft, almost drowned out by the droning cleric as he went on and on. He was saying something about interpretation, how sins change over time so some things that might have been sins once, aren't now.
Those fingers curled inside you. You felt yourself blush as you suppressed a twitch in your legs. This was still probably a sin.
You clenched your cunt against those fingers, gently pulsing it to try and send him a message: "fuck me already"
His fingers kept hard at work, rubbing and stroking as your body fought you, trying to gasp and moan, whine and wriggle at the invading digits. You couldn't. All you could do was sit there and drip, feeling your juices flow from you in rivers. He brought you to the very edge, then stopped. The fingers pulled out just as you threatened to crest the peak, letting you slide back down for a minute or two before pushing again. If you got closer, he'd leave you for longer. If he took a little while, you'd get the next edge a little sooner.
You ached so badly by the time the priest was done lecturing. The rest of the church got up and into the aisle, but they weren't leaving. You half-remembered something about sacraments? Eating the body and drinking the blood of God to get closer to him or something?
Sounds kinky.
You got up and joined near the back of the line. The fingers felt you move and withdrew, letting your pussy squeeze in vain. A blunt tip replaced them, pressing gently into you. The first inch slid in, fully hard and leaking that lupine precum all over you. Then he pulled out. Over and over you'd get just enough to get excited, but not enough to get you off. Your whole lower body hurt now. The constant teasing of your leaking, drooling hole was taking its toll on you.
You reached the front of the church. Kneeling in a line before the altar. Maybe kneeling made your body move a certain way? Maybe he could just tell you weren't upright any more. Either way, it earned you another inch. You clenched again, trying to keep a steady rhythm to encourage him. You got another inch. Then another, then another.
The priest was moving down the line. First a small biscuity thing, then a sip from a jewelled cup. One by one the other churchgoers were seen to. Whoever WolfDaddy is, he had a good handle on how long this took.
Six people to go. He fucked you harder. Cock pushing up to the very edge of your cervix. Five people, a pair of fingers joined in, rubbing your clit as you began to squirm. Four, the cock was faster now, hammering into you as the lupine on the other end of the portal rewarded you. Three, you bit your lip. The feeling of climax building in you, coming towards you hard and fast as you dug your nails into your palm
Two, the cock hilted into you. You could feel the knot starting to inflate. One, cum spurted forth, the cock throbbing and twitching as jet after jet flooded into you.
Just you left now.
The pastor said something, you opened your mouth, feeling your eyes want to roll back in your head as you begged a present from church.
"Take this, my body" A flavourless wafer landed on your tongue
"And this, my blood" a sip of acid-tasting wine
"T-thank you father" you stuttered out, mouth watering and body burning. You felt it coming. You looked in his eyes. He could tell. You could see he could tell. You suppressed a scream as you fell off the cliff.
You clenched every muscle to try and stop yourself shaking, tried to suppress a scream of triumphant release, instead it emerged as a long squeaking wait as your jaw slammed shut around it. Your eyes rolled, defocusing until there were two vicars in front of you, then back to one, then two again.
There's no way he didn't see as cum started to leak from you. No way he didn't notice as the portal cut off how suddenly there was a damp puddle where a worshipper was so recently sat. You could smell the cum on you, dripping from your oozing cunt.
You took a seat on the pews again. Reassuring wood to lend you stability. The church cleared. You saw the vicar step into a booth at the other end of the church. Dark wood and varnished to within an inch of its life.
You walked into the other side. A wickerwork screen and a small slot were between you and the man you'd just came in front of.
"F-forgive me father, for I have sinned"
Who knows, you might get more fun out of this yet
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Never fear about requesting a portal fic from me. Easily one of my favourite kinks of all time.
Especially when I get to couple it with monster cocks
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mylovesstuffs ¡ 6 months ago
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Joshua is THAT type of boyfriend !
This is my personal opinion and perspective. It may not accurately reflect their real-life personalities or behaviors.
A/N: Sorry, I got carried away and made it too long TT.
Joshua isn't just a sweet talker, he’s a menace with his words. Imagine him leaning in with that soft smirk and his warm eyes as he whispers, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” and you’re not even dressed up—just in sweats. You’d roll your eyes, but your heart? Oh, it’s flipping. And don’t even try to sass back.
Always using terms of endearment like, darling, love, babe.
He's the boyfriend who somehow always wins every argument you guys ever had.
This man would curate the most soul-melting playlists just for you. Love songs, sexy R&B tracks, even songs that remind him of you.
Don’t let the gentleman image fool you. He knows exactly what he’s doing when he gently tugs at your shirt collar, brushing his fingers against your skin as he adjusts it. And the way he smirks when he catches you staring? He’ll lean in and say, “Like what you see?” in that voice, making you combust on the spot.
You’re craving snacks at 11 p.m.? Joshua’s already putting on his jacket. He’ll hold your hand as you wander through the store, teasing you about your odd snack combinations but still buying them all anyway.
He’s the ultimate cuddler. Joshua will rest his chin on your head, his arms securely around your waist, and murmur little nothings that make your heart feel all warm and squishy.
The Protective Gentleman™: Someone dares to make you uncomfortable in public or even in private? Joshua’s usually gentle demeanor shifts in an instant. He’ll place a hand on your waist and give the offender a look so cold they’ll apologize themselves without a word.
Look, Joshua is a giver and overachiever in the bedroom. He’s the type to ask, “Do you like this?” in that deep, husky voice while holding eye contact. And when you can’t even form words? That’s his cue to smirk and go harder, exactly the way he knows you like. He’s all about making sure you’re the one who’s utterly wrecked by the end of fucking.
Joshua is the boyfriend who insists on holding you close whenever you’re cold.
“You’re so smart.” “How do you look this good all the time?” “I’m so lucky you’re mine.” He’s not over the top, but his compliments are so genuine that they leave you smiling for hours. Even if you’re having a bad day, Joshua’s words have this magical way of lifting you up without fail.
He remembers everything. Your coffee order, your favorite way to fold socks, the random anecdote you told him months ago—Joshua stores it all like it’s precious treasure.
Joshua will absentmindedly play with your hair all the time. Whether you’re watching a movie or lying in bed, his fingers are threading through your strands, gently tugging just to make you look at him.
Joshua looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky. He’s the boyfriend who says, “I want to grow old with you,” and you know he means it.
He might be soft-spoken, but the second you start pushing his buttons? You’re done for. His voice drops an octave, and he’s gripping your wrist with just enough pressure to make you stop in your tracks. “Keep testing me,” he’d say, with that calm, terrifying tone that sends shivers down your spine. And when you do, let’s just say you won’t win the next round...
Picture this: Joshua in an apron, trying his best to follow a recipe while sneaking bites of whatever you’re making. Flour ends up on both your faces, and he’s laughing so hard that you forget you burned the cookies. “Let’s just order pizza,” he’d say, pulling you into a hug that makes everything better. (Queue this)
If you’re ever upset, Joshua knows just what to do. He’ll hold you close, his voice will be soft as he reassures you. He doesn’t rush you to feel better; he just stays by your side, offering quiet support and the kind of love that makes you feel safe no matter what.
Joshua isn’t afraid to be goofy with you. He’ll make silly faces, sing off-key just to make you laugh.
Well, he's got the whole church-boy aura, but let’s not be naive here. That glint in his eyes when he’s pinning you against the wall during a heated makeout session is pure sin. He’ll whisper something like, “What would people think if they saw you like this?” just to watch you squirm. And don’t even think about trying to outplay him—he thrives on seeing you flustered.
At concerts, he’ll sneak little glances at you in the crowd and smile like you’re the only person in the world. HE IS UNREAL.
Joshua is the type to trail his fingers over every inch of your skin, memorizing the way you react to his touch. He’ll tilt your chin up gently, his thumb brushing your lower lip before kissing you like it’s his last day on Earth. It’s slow, intense, and leaves you aching for more.
He’s not flashy, but he’ll keep his hand on your lower back or entwine his fingers with yours, squeezing lightly whenever he feels like it.
He doesn’t even need to try to make your knees weak. He’ll be casually helping you grab something from the top shelf in a grocery store and lean down to say something, with a grin that’s way too innocent. Sir, is this a grocery trip or a personal attack?
Late at night, he’ll play the guitar and softly sing while you’re lying on his lap, and boom—you’re gone to heaven.
After he’s made you lose your mind with those sinful kisses, Joshua transforms back into the fluffiest boyfriend. He’s wiping the smudges off your lips with his thumb, kissing your forehead. The duality is WHIPLASH, but are you complaining? No.
When he looks at you, it’s not just attraction; it’s pure adoration. And when he holds you close, you’ll realize that being with him feels like coming home every single time.
Joshua’s the kind of boyfriend who makes you believe in love songs again. His actions, his words, his everything—all of it screams, “You’re my world.”
Yeah, Joshua is THAT type of boyfriend, and honestly, you’re done for. Congratulations on never recovering.
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reiderwriter ¡ 1 year ago
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Unfair We're Not Somewhere
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Chapter Eight of I Can't Help Myself
Summary: With a little bit of help from someone who could relate a little bit too closely to your situation, Y/N tries to come clean. Tries.
Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy symptoms/ general pregnancy things, unsub mentions, plot.
A/N: Chapter Eight! I'm so excited for where the rest of this series is going to go, though I do feel like people are going to be a bit annoyed by this one lmao. Let me know your thoughts in the comments below or in an ask! Don't be too mad...
Masterlist || Add yourself to the tag list
You sat quietly in the clinic as you waited for the pharmacist to fill your prescription - a simple pregnancy multivitamin that was supposed to help your food go down, make your hair shinier, and fix all your problems.
You wondered if the bottle could tell Spencer you were pregnant. You wondered if it could make him magically okay with that and prepare him for fatherhood, too. 
Your phone buzzed, and you surfaced from the field of thoughts you'd been lost in as you checked it. 
“Outside,” an unknown number had sent. You took that as your queue, stood up, and left the clinic, trying your best to avoid looking back at the small boy Spencer had been playing with. 
You weren't sure if you were going to have a boy or a girl yet. You didn't mind either, though you'd always envisioned yourself with a big enough family that you assumed at least one of each was inevitable. Though even you had to admit how stereotypically nuclear that was, and how only 18% of the country was living that was lying anyway. 
You shoved psychology from your head for a few minutes and let yourself breathe.
“Y/N!” JJ signalled from the driver's side of her still running SUV. She waved slightly, and you smiled politely as you quickly paced around to the side of her vehicle and got in. 
“Hi,” you said, unsure if you should introduce yourself or not. She'd been in the office the day you'd been taken into custody (protection), but you still had yet to speak to her. She'd been exempt from protective duty so far due to her status as a senior field agent and the fact that she had two kids and a husband at home waiting for her. 
You were sad she was the anomaly in the BAU, the only one with someone waiting on her. 
“I'm Y/N,” you said, still unsure if you should hold out a hand or not. You hadn't made the best impression on most of Spencer's colleagues, and while you didn't think there was much point in trying, you still couldn't bring yourself to be intentionally blasé. 
“I know, you're all we've been talking about for weeks,” the woman laughed, pulling out of the clinic car park and smiling at you. 
“Oh, right. Case. Of course, I've heard you probably know more about me than I know about myself.” 
“We have a profile, sure, but that's not what I meant.” 
You nodded awkwardly and stared out the window for a second, the sky darkening slightly as it prepared to rain. 
You drove for a few minutes before JJ spoke up again. 
“I don't know if Emily told you, but it's actually my day off today,” she said, turning off into a cul-de-sac you'd never seen before. 
“Oh, oh my god, I'm so sorry. I could've just got a taxi or something or just… gotten over myself. You didn't have to-” 
“Yes, I did,” she looked at you for a second, cocking her head to the side in a gesture that said, ‘and you know why.’ It was a look only a friend would give, and you felt an instant connection with her. 
How had Spencer found so many wonderful, big-hearted women to surround himself with, and how could you get in on it? 
You supposed, by letting him get you pregnant, you'd probably found a cheat code for whatever the answer might have been. 
“Anyway, it's my day off, so I promised my boys a fun day at home with mommy. We're doing finger painting and macaroni art. I hope you don't mind getting messy.” 
“Wha-? Me? Oh. No, not at all,” you tried to seem nonchalant, but your heart suddenly beat faster now that you were faced with this unexpected opportunity. As a lecturer, you'd been surrounded by kids professionally for years now. 18 to 21 year old kids. The kind that already had defined morals, world views, and, secretly, alcohol tolerances. The last time you'd encountered any kind of child younger than 18 was when you yourself were under 18.
The joys of toiling away at a doctorate for the better half of your adult life. You knew how to talk to professors and scholars. You were absolutely scared shitless of interacting with a kid. 
“H-How old are they?” You asked, trying to sound polite but falling somewhere between anxious and terrified with a simple stutter. 
“Well, Henry is turning 8 in November, and Michael is just about 22 months. He's just about talking, which is as fun as you can expect.” 
Her voice was tired, but there was genuine affection there, love for her kids and pride. You wondered if your voice would change if you'd suddenly begin speaking like that, too, about something other than a paper submitted to a journal or a job opportunity. 
She pulled into a street parking space and turned off the engine as two bright haired little boys came bouncing up the path of their garden to greet her, stopping at the gate. 
“Mommy! Michael got glitter on the carpet, and Daddy said we shouldn't tell you.” 
“And you have no sense of loyalty when a pretty face comes around, do you?”
Hopping out of the car, you heard JJ's husband drawl as she greeted him with a kiss. She'd probably only taken half an hour to pick you up, but they were still greeting each other so warmly. For a second, you wondered what that would be like before you remembered throwing yourself into Spencer's arms the night before. Your face heated as you stood awkwardly at the side of the car, trying not to cradle your stomach as you watched the family interact. 
Would your baby ever get that tall? Would it have brown eyes like Spencer, or one's more similar to your own? His hair was curly. Maybe your baby would get hair that waved like his, too. 
After all, JJ's kids seemed like perfect compromises between her and her husband. Other people's kids didn't, though. You wondered a lot of things before JJ gestured you over again. 
“Henry, Michael, this is Aunt Y/N. She's going to do those crafts with us today - after we've locked away the glitter and thrown away the key.” 
You laughed as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pushed you forward into the chaos of two kids under ten. 
You were a little startled as the smaller one - Michael - grabbed your hand. He had a pacifier in his mouth, though he was probably outgrowing it, and he stared up at you with big, wide eyes, blinking and sizing you up as he toddled along beside you. 
Your heart grew three sizes, and you felt sorry for ever being afraid of interacting with the kids. 
JJ whispered to her husband quickly as you entered the LaMontagne household, and he greeted you quickly. 
“So you're Spencer's lady friend. It's nice to meet you. It's nice that you're real. Honestly, I was getting a little-” 
A look from JJ cut him off, though he did still seem a bit confused. 
“I'm sorry, am I under the wrong impression? JJ said you were pregnant with Spencer's baby, y'all aren't…” 
“Oh my god-” you whispered, suddenly panicking again but whispering just in case. You weren't sure if the pair was religious, and though you certainly weren't, it probably wasn't the best time to blaspheme. You needed as much god as existed in the world. 
“So, does everyone know?” You asked JJ, trying to keep your voice bright and calm, so Michael didn't take too much of an interest and grow frustrated by hushed tones. You knew enough about child development and psychology, it translated over, right? 
“Everyone who's observant. Luke noticed the pregnancy vitamins in your bag, Tara was talking about your mood swings in the office the other day. I guess you told Emily earlier, and I have two kids.” 
You nodded at the answer. 
“And Spencer?” 
“You haven't told him yet?” JJ asked, slightly surprised. 
“If I told him, you'd know.” 
“Well, you're right on that. He's not the most easy-going during pregnancy,” JJ laughed and steered you into the living space, where your de facto art studio had been set up for the day, along with the offending glitter bomb. 
“Really? You thought you could keep that a secret?” 
“Well, of anyone was going to find it, it was going to be my beautiful, smart, funny, profiler Wife,” Will said, giving her a small peck on the cheek as she rolled her eyes at him. “I'm clocking in now. Call me if you need anything.” 
You waved him off, and sat down with the kids. 
JJ started the craft and then planned your hasty escape as the two boys were enraptured by making the perfect macaroni necklace, dusting it in objectively too much glitter as they proudly created their art. 
In the kitchen, she handed you a mug, and you sipped it quietly as she began again. 
“So, you're not dating?” 
“Nope.”
“And he doesn't know you're pregnant?” 
“No.” You took another sip and shifted from one foot to the other. 
You knew what was coming next. It was what you'd gotten next from Emily, from Penelope, from yourself when you'd thought about it for longer than ten seconds. You needed to tell him. 
“Okay. What's your next move?” 
You were so shocked you almost splashed the hot tea over the mug you held, close to burning yourself as you turned to face her. 
“I… what?” 
“Well, what's your next move? You're what, five months along? You're not going to be able to hide it for much longer. And you have to think about maternity leave, your hospital stay, and names, and who's going to drive you to the hospital. And obviously, how you're going to pay the hospital fee, and then custody and child support.”
“Oh god…” 
“And you also have to sort your relationship out with Spencer. So where are you starting?” 
It wasn't a question that didn't have an answer. JJ was staring at you, waiting for one as you opened and closed your mouth, head suddenly so empty you almost forgot what you were talking about. 
“He doesn't like me,” you suddenly blurted and wished you hadn't, face crumpling as you physically cringed at your own words. 
“Y/N, he was telling us about your toothbrush yesterday. Part of the office has a theory that he made up this case as a reason to get closer to you.” 
Again, you felt the heat blossom on tour skin as you looked away, taking another sip. 
“We don't do anything but argue.” 
“You do at least one other thing,” JJ said, hands on her hips as she confronted you. 
“No, that doesn't count. We were still arguing while we were doing…that.” 
“TMI,” she groaned as you fanned yourself. “Y/N, I know for a fact that Spencer is at least half in love with you. If you're absolutely sure you don't feel the same way, you need to at least let him down easy.”
“I…. I don't know. He's infuriating sometimes, but then he's so smart and annoying. But he's pretty great at comforting me. And the, uh, the other stuff, that was good, too.” 
“Don't need to-” 
“Like really good. Like, I'm not surprised I ended up pregnant practically first time good-” 
“Back on topic, please!” JJ whisper shouted, throwing her hands up as you zipped your mouth shut.
“You like him,” she said. 
You sighed and finally gave in. 
“Yeah. Yeah, I like him.” 
“Great. What next?” 
“Next, I tell him I'm pregnant and make him hate me for a while.” 
She patted you on the back and poised you another mug of tea before leading you back over to the kids and sitting beside them at the table. 
“We can plan something later. For now, macaroni art is calling.”
You weren't sure if it was the stern, practical pep-talk from JJ or the little tiny grasp of your hand from Michael. Maybe it was even Henry's goodbye of ‘see you soon, Auntie Y/N’ that had you suddenly invigorated, but you suddenly kicked yourself into gear. 
The pregnancy wasn't going to put itself on pause while you worked up the courage to tell Spencer about it. You had to do it. 
JJ dropped you off at home at 6 p.m., knowing that Spencer would be back at the apartment shortly. 
“You're sure you don't need me to stay up there with you? The commute can get a bit long this time of night, Spencer could be anywhere between 15 and 45 minutes.”
“No, I think… I think I need some time to think about how I'm going to do this. I need some alone time.”
She nodded quietly and sent you off after calling Spencer and giving him an update on your whereabouts. 
You paced the apartment wondering what the best option was. 
You could go for the bookshelf again, though it was still organised into your first message. You'd not moved a book in that stack at all, and surprisingly, neither had Spencer. 
Running into your room, you grabbed the pair of baby shoes you'd thrown into your bag from your apartment. Maybe if you left them on the shelf next to the books…? 
You put them there and frowned, wondering if he'd be able to see them from the door when he walked in. He was so used to the surroundings of his house that he really didn't check for irregularities. 
You moved them to the coffee table. Then you wondered if you should just hand them to him when he walked in. 
“Spencer. I am..pregnant,” you practised, looking into the bathroom mirror as you tried to force a smile. 
“Spencer. We're pregnant. No, not a chance,” you sighed. 
“Spencer, I have a parasite growing in me. I've had it for five months now, and then I'll have it for another four and hopefully a long time after that as well.” 
That one was mostly a joke. Mostly. 
“Spencer, I… We're going to have a baby.” You looked down at your bump again and decided that was probably your best option. It wasn't a state. It wasn't a condition or a parasite. It was a baby. 
You rubbed your stomach again and looked up, wiping away tears from the corner of your eye as you composed yourself again. 
The doorbell rang, and your heart race picked up. It was time. Spencer was home, and you were going to tell him. 
Suddenly, you were filled with excitement, with happiness. You ran to the door, stepping on the sofa to get there quicker as you ran to pull it open. 
Maybe it was the pregnancy brain fog, but you forgot where you were. 
Spencer Reid lived in this apartment. He didn't need to knock on the door or ring the doorbell. He'd never done it before. But you'd already swung the door open quickly, and you were so relaxed and ready for it to be him that when a hand extended and covered your mouth with a cloth, thick with a scent that had your body protesting, you could do nothing but crumple to the floor with your hands cradling yourself, protecting the life growing within you. 
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viperify ¡ 6 months ago
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Smutmas 2024 | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ᴍᴜɢɢʟᴇʙᴏʀɴ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
Celebrating Her.
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Short summary: after spoiling you the entire day, Tom makes sure your special day ends in a blast.
Warnings: 18+ only! nipple play, fingering, slight degradation, choking, rough sex, unprotected p in v, ooc Tom but it’s okay because it’s my birthday.
A/N: leaving my teenage years behind. Today’s been super stressy, but I am happy to finally have time to post my birthday fic!!! Also happy birthday to my birthday twin, Severus Snape 🫶🏻
wordcount: 2,2k
celebrating him.
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London. He has taken you to London. To your favourite restaurant to be exact, one that you have not visited ever since you moved to the wizarding world. Tom wasn’t the person to go to the muggle world, not if he didn’t have to at that. Too many bad memories have been made there, especially back in his orphanage days. So, for obvious reasons, you were surprised when he told you where you were headed to.
The clock strikes 9pm when he waves a waiter over and takes the courtesy to pay. Not that he would let you pay anyway, especially on your birthday, but you are still grateful. You feel people’s gaze on you as you both get up, your burgundy, crystal plated dress easily catching people’s attention as you stand out from the crowd on this seemingly so ordinary day. Ordinary for them, anyway.
Your eyes meet Tom’s, who is matching your attire with a black suit. The corner of his lips tugs up just the slightest bit at the attention you are receiving, and his arm wraps possessively around your waist. “Ready to leave?” he asks smoothly, and you nod, following him towards the exit.
However, he doesn’t take you back home like you had expected. No, instead, you are strolling through the city, finding your way through the crowd of people waiting to get home after another long Thursday. There are entire queues waiting for taxis, and suddenly you don’t miss your former, “normal” life in the slightest. London’s always been loud and busy, so when you received your letter for Hogwarts and got to know the most magical, hidden place in the Highlands of Scotland—you wish you could have lived there since your birth.
Being a muggle born isn’t easy. It’s come with its challenges, especially back in your first year at Hogwarts. It took time for you to find friends, to adjust to the change. And God, you missed your parents. Then, being exposed to all the hatred and bullying muggle borns had to endure definitely didn’t make it any better. Especially if you end up falling for your tormentor.
Being in love with Tom Riddle as a muggle born isn’t easy. But you two had somehow—after years of bickering and rivalry—made it work. It wasn’t until your seventh year that you got closer and essentially ended up being a couple. And no, you couldn’t believe it either. Not in your wildest dreams would you have thought the day would come that your strongest feeling for Tom would be love.
It’s always been hate, after all.
It was subtle at first, from stealing glances in classes to blatantly staring at each other, to—well. Him cornering you when you exited the girl's lavatory, whispering a soft “What are you doing to me?” as he leaned in. And before you could react, his lips were on yours, capturing you in a heartfelt kiss, pouring his feelings into it like he had to prove they really existed—firstly to you, but himself as well. Even when, in the end, of course you did love him too.
Tom’s love often is rough, distant. But you make it work, and when he does soften up—it’s like a plant sipping its first drop of water after an agonizingly long drought. You relish in it, your dynamics making you a perfect match for each other. And just like that, the boy you once hated with every cell in your body turned into your lover you wouldn’t even think about letting go.
That’s how you ended up spending your 20th birthday in London. Away from the wizarding world for once, back in your home city. You almost couldn’t believe when he apparated you both to the restaurant your parents used to take you to for birthdays. Tom Riddle, organizing a birthday dinner in the muggle world. A subtle smile brightens up your face at the thought. He leads you through the crowd, arms still around your waist. It’s not until he stops that you realize where you are headed.
One of the finest hotels in all of London, if you may. And he doesn’t just stop in front of it, no, you enter. Tom doesn’t respond when you ask him what you are doing here, instead withdraws a card from his pocket and leads you up the marble stairs. The setting feels special, too special to be true. It’s silent besides the clicking of your heels as you ascend the stairs, a chandelier dimly illuminating the hallway. There is no one around, no receptionist, no other guests. It seems as though you two are there alone, the property reserved for solely you two.
It’s not long until you arrive at door 464. As soon as he opens it, a smell of roses and lit candles floods your senses. The room, kept in an elegant vintage style, is illuminated by candles, the high ceilings decorated with baroque carvings. With you trying to take in the magic of the room, you don’t realize Tom stepping further into the room. Only when you hear muffled voices, followed by soft strains of classical music, your eyes flicker to where he is standing—adjusting a modern radio.
“Tom Riddle using a muggle device? This might be my best birthday present yet.” you snicker, walking towards the brunette. It’s then when he turns around, his deep brown eyes meeting yours.
“First and last time.” he answers, his voice low as his hands settle on your waist. Leaning in, he places a soft kiss on your lips. Without another word, Tom’s left hand intertwines with your right, the subtle notes of a violin and a piano resonating through the room as he guides you into a slow dance.
You can’t help but wonder how he’d learned to do that. At the two yule balls you experienced, he had never asked anyone for a dance. As you sway to the gentle tones, a memory plays in your head, taking you back four years to your 5th year at Hogwarts.
Being asked for a dance by one of the most popular boys in Gryffindor had its perks—you had been the center of attention the entire evening. Many people asked you for a dance, complimenting your looks as they took in your sapphire blue dress, adorned with tiny crystals.
In a brief moment of solitude, your eyes swayed around the hall, just for you to lock eyes with Tom. Merely a split second later, he averted his gaze, though the intensity of his eyes on yours lingered—and for the rest of the night, no one else asked you to dance again.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks you, and you are forced out of your thoughts, returning to the present. The dim candlelight casts a shadow on his sharp features, and you once again get lost in his eyes.
“Was it you? Back then, at the ball?” you murmur, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his lips at the question, and it’s almost as if you could see the memory replaying in his eyes.
“Nobody touches what is mine, darling.” Tom replies, and there is this familiar possessiveness in his voice, the one that you have grown to love. Another kiss later and he is tugging at your zipper as he leans in, his hot breath on the tender skin of your neck sending a shiver down your spine. “Let me take care of you now, just like you deserve.”
You don’t complain as he is leading you towards the bed, dress long discarded on the floor. Tom’s hand wanders, slipping under the waistband of your lace underwear as he settles down beside you. Finding your swollen bundle of nerves, the pad of his thumb rubs tight circles on it, having you take a sharp inhale at the sensation.
His other hand frees your breasts, pushing the dainty material of your bra to the side. His eyes wander up and down your almost entirely exposed form, muttering praises under his breath before he lowers his head to trail gentle kisses from your collarbone to your breast, gently wrapping his lips around the hardened peak.
“Oh— oh Merlin, Tom—“
His tongue flicks over the sensitive skin, drawing small whimpers and moans from you as your fingers thread through his silky brunette hair. You tug on it slightly, massaging his scalp as he continues his ministrations, nibbling and kissing your skin.
Your fingers dig into the sheets, firmly clenching around the fabric as two of his digits slip inside of your tight heat. “So wet for me,” he groans lowly, moving at an agonizingly slow pace as the heel of his hand rubs on your clit with every thrust of his hand. The sensations he is providing you with, fingertips massaging the one spot inside of you that has you grow dizzy with pleasure, the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter, and you are just there on the edge when—
“No, no please! I want to— want you to—“ you gasp, hand closing around his wrist, attempting to still his movements. His dark eyes lock with yours then, and he stops. “Use your words, sweetheart. What is it that you want?”
“Want you inside of me, please.” you murmur, and his lips curl into a knowing smirk at your words, shaking his head just slightly. He withdraws his fingers then, a small whimper falling over your lips at the loss. It doesn’t take long until he has undressed himself, parting your thighs before he positions himself between them, hovering over you.
“I really wanted to be nice to you today, darling.” he remarks, though his tip nudging at your entrance has all sane thoughts leave your mind at an instant.
“Merlin— you know I don’t want you to be. Please don’t be nice.”
Tom’s hand snakes around your throat at your response, mumbling something inaudible under his breath as he presses down on the sides of your throat, slowly splitting you apart on his hard length as you both groan. “This better? Want to be fucked like a whore even on your birthday?”
All you manage is a nod before he buries himself inside of you completely, not letting you adjust before he sets a harsh rhythm, his eyes darting down to his cock disappearing in your heat. Tom’s lips part slightly at the sight, a low growl rumbling in the back of his throat.
The classical music playing in the background is a stark contrast to how he is fucking you, hips snapping into yours from an angle that has you see stars, your nails digging into his toned shoulders, sure to leave behind crescent marks.
“So— good!” you cry out, hands holding onto his biceps as he thrusts into you from above, the sound of your combined moans echoing around the hotel room. It’s not long until your pleasure is building again, eyes rolling to the back of your head as his tip brushes against your sensitive cervix.
“Eyes on me, darling. Let me see how good I am making you feel. Let me see you come,” he demands, hand squeezing down tighter on your throat. You do as he says, eyes fluttering open just for you to meet his stern expression, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his brunette curls stick to his damp forehead. His gaze burns into yours, the limited blood flow making you feel just slightly lightheaded, intensifying the feeling of his length slipping in and out of your sensitive walls.
You’re right at the edge, your cunt greedily clenching down on his thick cock. Tom seems to notice, his free hand reaching between you two, softly swiping over your needy clit with the pad of his thumb. “Tom— please!” you cry out, and he lowers his head, resting it in the crook of your neck. “Go on. Come for me,” he groans, and that is all you need to finally tumble over the edge, the intense feeling in your lower stomach leaving you a trembling and whimpering mess beneath him. Tom follows soon after, emptying himself deep inside of your warm, welcoming walls with a low grunt.
He collapses on top of you to catch his breath, though soon after pulling out of you, getting up to fetch a warm, damp towel to clean you up. It’s not long until he scoops you up in his arms, entering the bathroom where an already filled bathtub awaits you, lowering your spent body into the pleasantly warm water. He soon gets in as well, massaging circles into your shoulders as your head rests on his chest. It’s mostly quiet between you two, savouring the moment of intimacy you only rarely get to experience with him.
Before you drift off to sleep, he places a tender kiss on your head.
“Happy Birthday, love.”
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vvanillal ¡ 4 months ago
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The loss of innocence ꣑ৎ
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THIS IS UNFINISHED AND IM NOT GONNA FINSIH IT!
Warnings: Harry Potter x Reader, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Semi smut
Word count: 1.4k
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To say you were all the talk at Hogwarts is an understatement; Well, people are still talking. 5 weeks ago you stepped foot on the grounds as the Librarian Helper. It was your goal to have a quiet, and calming job, and nothing is better than a Librarian. Students would come in to talk about you. They would sit down with a random book, and whisper to each other while looking straight at you. They couldn’t be more obvious. Why? You were the youngest of the faculty at Hogwarts. 21 years old, you were. That meant students tried to befriend you rather than treat you like a superior.
“Hermione, you know I cannot give you a pass to the restricted section even if I wanted to. I don’t have that privilege,” you say, smiling softly at her. She was one of your favorites; she visited the library often. “C’mon, can’t you talk Madam Pince into letting me,” she asked, a hopeful look in her eyes. You shook your head, watching her hopefulness tarnish. “I’m sorry,” you say. “Surely you can just sneak me in and no one would notice? And besides, it’s you, the librarian's helper. No one is going to think anything if they catch you!” Hermonie’s face was slightly red from speaking so fast and running out of breath. “NO,” you exclaimed.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Ron and Harry pushing each other for a place as leader. You raised your eyebrow, and they each smiled while trying to make the other fall behind. “Madam Y/L/N, nice to see you this morning,” Ron surprisingly said first. Harry nodded quickly with the biggest grin he could muster up. You eyed them both, confused. They acted like this everytime, but still never failed to amaze you. “Ron, Harry,” you nodded between the two of them, but your eyes lingered on one of the boys. Harry looked down, a rosy blush now across his cheeks.
“Do you two have anything to do with this?” You asked the boys. “Yes,” Hermione said, and at the same time Harry nearly screamed “NO!” You smiled, trying to hold back your laughter. “Well- I mean- I told them not to bother you,” Harry stammers, and you caught Ron rolling his eyes. You laugh, “It’s fine. I’m not bothered; as long as Hermonie doesn’t try to use me as a pass again.”
You chat with them for what seemed like hours. Even in the time that passed, you were still standing. They opted to pull up chairs. It looked like they were gathered around to hear a story. As Ron and Hermione got off topic, arguing, your eyes wandered around until they found Harry. But his eyes seemed to be fixated on your body. You watched as his eyes outlined your curves intently. You were dressed in a white button-up blouse, paired with a brown pencil skirt. The button up was tucked in, leaving room to show off the dip of your hips. You move your blown-out curls from your face, fix your glasses, and clear your throat. Ron and Hermione stopped talking, and Harry jumped up, leaving the library. “Guess that’s your queue to leave,” you said.
As you picked up around the library, only one person was on your mind. Harry was your favorite. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be the favorite, for sure. But for some reason, it felt different. It didn’t feel like he was just a favorite. He was the teacher's pet, though; always volunteering, and doing anything and everything you asked of him. Even when you necessarily didn’t need help, he would insist. Unlike the librarian, you liked to put each book back; not using magic. It calmed you, in some sense, to put the books neatly back in their place and ready for the next day. Kids would still leave books lying, whether you told them to clean up or not.
You were humming to yourself, making laps around the bookshelf, sorting them in their rightful place. Deep in the zone, you felt someone tap your shoulder, causing you to jump and drop a few books. “Shit-” you cover your heart, feeling it beat against your chest. You regretted swearing now that you saw who that person was. “Oh, Harry! You scared me,” you said embarrassingly. He sheepishly looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s late; aren’t you going to get in trouble for being out of bed this late,” you ask. “Not if they don’t find out,” he smirks confidently. You nod a smile on your lips. “Are you in need of something?” He looks around, “No- I mean yes- I wanted to help you.”
So that was it, Harry helped you put away the books. As you talked about nonsense on the backside of the bookshelf he was on, you felt the heat of someone else's stare. Truthfully, you felt it since Harry walked through the door. You look around the library, checking over your shoulders, and when you don't find anyone you look at Harry. His eyes were already on you, though. So it’s him, you think to yourself. He didn’t look away this time, like usual; and you felt like challenging him. You smirk, which ultimately puts him at a loss instantly.
“I think we’re done here,” you say, smoothing down your skirt. Harry nodded, but he looked like he had unfinished business. “I want to talk to you about something important. Honestly, that’s the reason I came tonight,” he admitted. You were nervous. He sits down on one of the tables, his eyes huge. He played with his fingers in his lap, as he seemed to struggle to get it out. “It’s okay, you can tell me,” you walk toward him. His eyes widened as much as they’d go. “This is going to sound stupid- and I don’t even know why I wanted to ask you this… oh, this is stupid.” He went on. You shook your head, which in return made him stop laughing. “What,” he asked. “It’s not stupid, Harry. Whatever it is obviously is important.”
Well, what he said was definitely not something on tonight’s agenda. “I want you to help me,” he said, his face instantly going red. “I-I mean will you… help me?” You stood confused, “with,” you extend the H. ”I want you to help me with sex,” he said bluntly. Now you were even more confused, and worse, you didn’t know what to think. “You’re judging me aren’t you? This-” before he could start anxiously babbling again, you interrupted him. “No I’m not judging, Harry. I just- we have a teacher-student relationship,” you explain. “Y/N please, I trust you. I need this; I'm bad at everything. Please,” he begged. He looked so needy, sitting on the table with sweat trickling down his forehead. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes heavy with emotion. You were thinking about it. If you were to get caught though- and he was younger than you- what if people found out? And you expressed exactly that. “I don’t care that you’re older than me, I’m an adult.” And with more persuading, he fully convinced you.
You moved closer, painfully slow until you were between his legs. In this position, you were taller than him. You look into his eyes and bring your lips closer to his, but you stop before your lips could touch his. “Are you sure,” your breath is hot against his lips. He nods, brushing your lips together. You finally press your lips to his, and he moans instantly into the kiss. You bite at his bottom lip, nipping at the soft skin. He was clearly inexperienced, letting his teeth clash against yours as tried to stick his tongue in your mouth. He was sloppy. “Slow down, Harry. Let me show you,” you correct his kiss, earning a whine in return from him. He did as he was taught, making you smirk against his lips.
You take his arm, pull him from the table and show him to a comfortable chair that was sat in the corner of the library. You sit him down with a soft push to his shoulder. He grunts, but hesitantly puts his hands on your ass, guiding you to sit on his lap. You squeeze your thighs against him, going back to kissing his lips, and then his neck. He seemed to like you on his neck because he was struggling to be quiet. “You're doing so good, Harry,” you whisper.
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daydreamgoddess14 ¡ 3 days ago
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The Reading Rooms
Previous weeks Masterlist
Always remember to heed the warnings posted by the individual authors. What I'm happy to read may not be what you're happy to read, so I take no responsibility if you find something you're not into.
And finally, Tumblr is a community. Reblog, gush like you've never gushed before - I promise you, the authors below will love it, and love you for it! We write because we love to, but we share our work because we love the community of it. If you read something you like, let the world know! 💕
The List
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Another busy week! Handed in my assignment - nothing like the last minute, right?! Posted TWO new chapters of Strategic Interests and a spicy one-shot - I'll Do That Thing based on a gif I couldn't stop watching (you can blame @sunday-bug for that one!) which completely blew up. Fun! I'm currently working on Strategic Interests chapter 7, For Your Consideration - January Part 2 AND another spicy one-shot. Apparently it's a new thing where I write sex acts I've never written before. Why not, it's good to try new things! 🤭
I also read some amazing stuff this week, and thanks to @azriona, I discovered how to properly use the queue so I can stop clogging up ya dash when I'm on a reblogging spree!
Bucky Barnes
It's been a Bucky week.
The Celibacy Challenge by @sunday-bug was so much fun, I too would have to nope out of every room and I would cave SO fast 😅
I'm SURE I'm behind on reblogs for Declassified but Chapter 12 landed just as I needed something to read before bed last night and it was AMAZINGGGG!!! My love for Kelsey is only challenged by my need to shake her right now, @dreamwritesimagines!
Sergent's magic mouth by @buckyseternaldoll. Please. Anything. I'll give anything. Also by Elle,
I love it when @societyfolklore blesses us with a short and sweet bit of filth. So good to us 🙌
@navybrat817 said the words 'Bucky is hot and fucks like a God' and we all nodded with our entire bodies - Back It Up
@buckysleftbicep wrote a dad's best friend Bucky fic and... good god, it's so hot - daddy's best friend. As was little black dress, clearly I am feral this week. I feel like I'm gonna look back on these lists and go, whooooh yeah that was a horny week, y'know?
In fact, I'm sticking with Lily here, I realised I accidentally reblogged a reblog - so sorry, love. Swipe Right was so, so quietly beautiful 😭
@whitedarkmoonflower gave us the gorgeous Good morning and I would like to incorporate that and also Sweet Surrender into my morning routine please and thank you.
Saturdays with Bucky would be a dream. ngl. Loved this @buckybarnes82!
The Desperate to Devoted series by @buckets-and-trees was amazing!!
I will always rescue you by @firelilyfox was super sweet and lovely!
Happy Father's Day by @wildflowersandvibranium - this was the most adorable Father's Day everrrrr!!! Bucky is SUCH a girl dad, you cannot convince me otherwise!
The Suit Problem by @salty-tang - this was so hot and yessss, I can definitely see him ripping through those suits!! I've added the masterpost to my reading list AND it's so good to see another Congresswoman fic! 🙌
She Looks Nothing Like Me @writing-for-marvel - as a curvy girlie, I really felt this one! So, so lovely 🥹🥹
@buckybarnesfic BBF wrote their first fic!! About a stuffed dick!! Go read it, you will NOT be disappointed!!
A smutty talk you through it by @crowsofdarkness - no notes, just me begging, actually.
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Ok, I've been neglecting my longreads - the 8/9/10/11k(+) fics that are all sitting in my drafts begging to be read. I've also just rescued a bunch of fics out of my likes so I can get to those for next week!
Phew! LFG!
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bloodstainedsapphic ¡ 1 year ago
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Could you do headcanons for going to a haunted house with Mattheo?🤭
the horror fan in me is melting at this idea. it's officially six months until halloween, that counts as spooky season. right? right?
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mattheo riddle embodies the cliche of a man, unafraid at a haunted house attraction. even though the attractions in hogsmeade use oodles of magical jinxes to scare your pants off, he dodges every trick and scream easily, appearing suspiciously unbothered by every provocation. you give him the benefit of the doubt as he keeps his chest held high, flashing a smirk in your direction when you latch onto his side while in the queue to enter. 
mattheo readily positions the two of you at the front of the group to make sure you face the thrills head-on. whether you bury your head in his shoulder or make wisecracks with him towards the clowns, ghosts, and other monsters that get in your way, mattheo finds it endearing because he relishes in getting to be 'your hero', pulling you snug against him whenever you get targeted. you listen as he turns damn-near into a comedian as you traverse the tight-squeeze hallways. couldn't be his attempt to compensate for the fear. definitely not. 
there's also no way a haunted house doesn't stir up mattheo's protective instincts. we vibe with some red flags, yeah? he should know it's all in good fun, but an actor coming too close to you for his comfort still gets him seething. mattheo immediately gets in their face, growling threats if they dare come near you again. ever the romantic mattheo is. to prevent yourselves from being barred from the attraction midway, you spout a flurry of embarrassed apologies at the actor and take the lead for the first and only time, grabbing mattheo's hand and yanking him deeper into the attraction and away from more trouble. 
it wouldn't be a date with mattheo if he didn't find at least one dark, secluded corner to pull you in, wrapping himself around you in his furnace-like embrace and sneaking a kiss, insisting it's necessary to lighten the mood. 
the brave facade mattheo maintained the entire evening almost has you fooled. once you two end your night out and begin your trek to the castle, you finally relent and praise him for his guts. the cocky smirk that appears on mattheo's face looks like it could become a permanent fixture of his expression. the pride is short-lived when, of all things, a stray critter rustling in the bushes is the final straw, prompting mattheo to shriek in a pitch you never knew he was capable of. you (and his friends, when you giddily recount the incident later that night) will never let him live that one down. 
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